


Cinnamon Whiskey

by TheGreatDivide



Series: Cinnamon Whiskey - Dean and Cheyenne [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Break Up, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Daddy Issues, Dean Winchester Can't Say "I Love You", Dean Winchester In Love, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Episode: s02e09 Croatoan, Episode: s02e20 What Is and What Should Never Be, Episode: s02e21 All Hell Breaks Loose, Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Dynamics, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Love/Hate, Mutual Pining, Original Character Death(s), Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dean Winchester, Romantic Dean Winchester, Romantic Fluff, Saving People Hunting Things, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Stanford Era, Suicide, Sweet, Young Dean Winchester, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-06-24 10:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 54
Words: 176,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15628335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatDivide/pseuds/TheGreatDivide
Summary: Loving Dean Winchester is like drinking a gallon of Fireball in one sitting; messy, dangerous, and likely to end in tears.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although I have tried to keep the characters as similar to their TV counterparts as possible, there are, and will be, some inconsistencies. Please heed the tags, particularly if there are some topics that you find particularly triggering. Also, please, please leave feedback! I absolutely love hearing your thoughts, and constructive criticism is always really helpful as I do intend to go back and do some big edits (please don't be too mean, I'm a sensitive soul at heart.) Otherwise, happy reading!

**2003**

 

Cheyenne Foster hated deadlines. There was nothing more in the world that made her want to slam her head against the desk than a two-week deadline on an essay. Especially if that essay was 3000 words defending the usefulness of Kantian Deontology. The only small victory of the night was the fact that her friends had exactly the same deadline, and they were all crowded around the same table in the library with too many empty cups of coffee and chocolate bar wrappers. Misery loves company, after all. Beside her, Jake was resting his head on his notes, staring blankly at the screen of his laptop as if inspiration would magically come to him, and on her other side, Ana was frowning at the single line of text on her word document.

 “Have you seriously just written the title?”

 Ana looked over at her sharply. “How much have you written?”

 Cheyenne closed her laptop lid slowly, patting the top of it gently. “Absolutely nothing. I don’t even know where to start.”

 “Well, tonight was a bust.” Jake mumbled, sitting up and stretching. Cheyenne was almost positive that she heard something in his spine crunch as he moved, and she winced involuntarily. “I’m officially failing this semester.”

 “Don’t be dramatic.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s only first year, they’re not going to crucify you.”

 Jake opened his mouth to respond, before pausing, and tilting his head back to let out a loud yawn. “Fuck it, I’m done for the night. I’m trying this again tomorrow. You two coming?”

 She sighed, looking down at the book in front of her. It really had been a wasted night. Maybe Jake was right, maybe they were going to fail, and their professor was going to kill them. At least if that happened, they wouldn’t have to attend any more of his classes.

 She slammed the book shut, dropping it into her rucksack along with her laptop. “Definitely. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 “But you’re walking us home.” Ana pointed at Jake. “I’m definitely not walking around on my own with that psycho still out there.”

 “You’re kidding me, they still haven’t caught him?” Jake stared at her in disbelief.

 They were talking about the recent series of disappearances that had taken the college by shock. Four students had gone missing in two weeks, all of whom were young women. In response, instead of doing something productive like requesting brighter lighting on campus and more guards, the college administration had decided to shut all buildings, including the library, at ten o’clock.

 “Well technically, there isn’t a ‘him’ to catch.” Cheyenne pointed out. “No bodies means no murder, and they don’t have any suspects. So, until they do, you’re our escort.”

 “That’s a little sexist, don’t you think? Who’s escorting me?” Jake asked, indignant.

 “As soon as someone starts kidnapping or killing scrawny little man-children, we’ll start walking you home.” Cheyenne promised him, putting on her jacket. “Now can we go? Please?”

 While Jake stooped to start packing his things, Ana tugged on Cheyenne’s sleeve quickly, hissing her name. “Chey, oh my God…”

 “What?”

 “I don’t want to be dramatic, but the hottest guy I have ever seen in the flesh is sitting behind us.”

 She was sceptical, to say the least. Ana regularly fell in love with mildly attractive strangers, whether they were the barista serving her at Starbucks, or the guy who accidentally bumped her shoulder while she got off the bus. Her standards, it was safe to say, were virtually non-existent. When Cheyenne turned her head, she was half expecting more of the same – an average looking guy that Ana, in a fit of desperation and caffeine-induced delusion, had temporarily fallen in love with.

 She was caught off guard when she finally turned to look at the guy. For once – in a sudden fit of good taste – Ana was right. He was gorgeous. Not just ‘I know you want to sleep with me’ attractive, but ‘I should be modeling in Hollywood’ gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous you didn’t tend to find tucked into the corner of the library at 9:30 on a Friday evening in Wisconsin in between the modern American history and French language books.

 Unfortunately, when she turned to look at him – and then to stare at him – he was looking up at the three of them. And unless he was blind, he’d caught her staring, which might have been the reason he was grinning at her. Cheyenne looked away quickly, embarrassed, and pretended to double check the strap on her bag was done up just so she could turn away from him and hide her burning cheeks.

 “What are you grinning at?” Jake asked Ana when he finally finished packing his bag. “What did I miss?”

 “Nothing.” Cheyenne said quickly. “Can we go now?”

 “She just got caught staring at the hot guy over at that back table like some creepy pervert.” Ana, as always, was more than happy to fill Jake in with even a slightly embarrassing events of her day to day existence.

 “Thanks.” She glared over at Ana, who shot back something that could only be described as a shit-eating grin before zipping up her jacket.

 “You’re welcome. We can go now.” She said sweetly, walking ahead of them towards the door. Jake followed her, but Cheyenne paused, and after a second she decided to risk taking one last look at the attractive stranger. The portion of her brain that she hated – the part that switched off magically during her SAT’s but was more than willing to play the riff from _Life in the Fast Lane_ on repeat while she was trying to sleep - overruled her sense of pride.

As usual, listening to that portion of her brain was a bad idea. When she looked back over, he was still staring at her, with that same cocky grin on his lips. After a few seconds of the two of them staring at each other and no-one moving, Cheyenne began to feel ridiculous. Normal people stopped staring when they’d been caught the first time. They didn’t go back for a second course, no matter how hot the person was.

 Not that he seemed to mind, of course. Slowly, he leaned forward in his chair, tilting his head to the side before glancing at the chair beside him, and then back up at her. Was he inviting her over to sit?

 “Cheyenne.”

 She looked over at Jake and Ana sharply. They were waiting for her in the doorway expectantly, holding the door open for her. Reluctantly, she looked back at the guy sat alone and pointed to her friends lamely, offering him a half-hearted shrug before walking out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was Saturday morning when she next saw him. With a hot shower and a hotter cup of coffee behind her, Cheyenne walked into the library with a more positive attitude than she’d left with the night before. There were going to be no distractions, no 30-minute-long coffee and pee breaks. Just four hours of actual work.

 Her books were laid out, her laptop was open, and she had a crappy cup of coffee from the vending machine in the hallway when something moved in her peripheral vision. She turned her head just in time to see the guy from last night drop into the vacant seat beside her. “Morning.”

 Cheyenne’s cheeks were already burning red before she even managed to stutter out an apology for her staring. He smiled patiently at her, leaning back in his chair a little as she struggled to come up with something. Finally, she settled on something short.

 “Hi.”

 A two letter, one syllable word should have been relatively difficult to fuck up, but somehow it came out as a high-pitched squeak instead of her normal voice. She was half surprised that the guy didn’t just pack up his shit and walk out there and then, but instead he held out a hand.

 “Dean.” He grinned. “Figured maybe you’d want a name to go with the face.”

 Still blushing, Cheyenne took his hand and shook it hesitantly. “Cheyenne. I’m… Sorry for staring last night. That was creepy.”

 “Don’t apologise.” Dean cocked his head to one side, smirking. “I like a woman who’s forward.”

 Boy did you make a mistake in sitting next to me, buddy. She thought ruefully. Her love life could best be described as laughable with a side of shameful, partially since her body had a funny way of all but shutting down when an attractive guy started speaking to her.

 “I haven’t seen you in here before.” She said quietly.

 “I’m uh… Just visiting.” Dean said, shrugging off his heavy leather coat and leaning against the desk. “I’m only in town for a few weeks.”

 “Please don’t tell me you’re the serial killer we’ve been warned about.” She said, only half-joking. Dean smiled gently, shaking his head slowly.

“Not a serial killer, I promise.” He paused, before glancing over at her. “But uh… what do you know about those murders?”

“Not much.” She shrugged. “Same as everyone else really – I think four girls have gone missing from campus in the past couple of weeks. They still haven’t found any of the bodies.”

Dean’s demeanour had changed somewhat. He was leaning into her almost conspiratorial, green eyes wide open and intent as he listened. “Did you know any of the girls who went missing?”

Cheyenne raised an eyebrow. This guy was a little eager on the whole ‘tell me about the more morbid parts of this school’ topic. “What are you, some true crime nut?” She teased gently.

“Uh…” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling gently. “Something like that I guess.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was safe to say Cheyenne didn't get much work done that morning. As soon as Dean parked his ass in that chair beside her, all thoughts of Kantian Deontology flew out the window. Her book lay unopened, her laptop slowly ran out of charge, and her deadline loomed ever closer, but she didn't care. Dean was fascinating - maybe it was the air of mystery that seemed to follow him into the room, or maybe it was just how distractingly handsome he was. Either way, the two just sat and talked for hours in the corner of the library she'd carved out for herself when she'd at least intended to work, up until the librarian threw them out for talking too loudly. 

And for the first time in weeks, Cheyenne was actually heading out to the student bar with someone who wasn't Ana or Jake. Dean had invited her out after they'd been tossed out into the cold, and without pausing for thought (or to entertain the idea that he actually might have been the serial killer on campus), she agreed. Unfortunately, she had pretty piss poor experience in going to bars with random guys (especially seeing as she was still a year under the drinking age). As she tried desperately to choose between a dress that barely covered her ass and a blouse that she liked but refused to button up, Cheyenne found herself why she even bothered interacting with men. 

Ana was channel surfing lazily in the front room when Cheyenne stepped out, giving the dress one more feeble tug to at least try and conceal her underwear. "Well damn."

"I know, shut up." Cheyenne mumbled. "I think it shrank in the wash. I don't remember it being this short last time I wore it."

"And when was the last time you wore it?" Ana stood up, leading her into her bedroom. "I don't think I've ever seen that before."

Cheyenne shrugged awkwardly. Most of her dates consisted of coffee shops or other daytime activities that didn't generally require dressing up. The only other dresses she had were the ones she usually wore to fancy restaurants when she and her friends were celebrating something, they seemed a little too dressy for a bar. 

"So who's the lucky guy?" Ana asked, rifling through her closet and picking out a dress. She held it up to Cheyenne for a brief moment before hanging it back up, shaking her head. "Someone I know?"

Cheyenne gave a light chuckle, feeling herself blush a little. "You uh... You remember that guy from the library last night? He was there again today. We got to talking, and he asked me out."

Ana's expression was unreadable for a second as she thought of what to say. "I hate you." She said quietly, lowering the dress in her hands. "That guy was so pretty, Chey."

She laughed. "Well if I can't find something to wear, you might have to take my place tonight."

"No way." Ana shook her head stubbornly, putting that dress back and digging around in her closet. "I saw that guy, I know the perfect dress. She'll get you laid for sure."

"She?" Cheyenne cocked an eyebrow incredulously. What exactly was Ana about to pull out of her closet?

Eventually, after some digging, Ana pulled out something dark red, which she thrust into Cheyenne's arms. "Don't look at her too closely before you put her on, okay? Just trust me. We'll have this guy weak at the knees."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I cannot wear this dress!"

Ana chuckled. "Yes you can, trust me. She's my lucky charm, hasn't failed me yet."

Cheyenne's bedroom door swung open, and she stared at her best friend, her face a mixture of horror and fear. "I'm going to get clocked for public indecency. Or freeze. You're aware we live in Wisconsin, right?"

"We'll get you a coat." Ana brushed off her concern as she started to smooth out the dress, adjusting it a little and stepping back to admire her. "Cheyenne Foster, meet Ruby Garcia."

"You gave this dress your last name?" She deadpanned. Ana rolled her eyes, spinning her friend around so that they were both looking in the mirror. 

"My sister bought Ruby in her last year of college. And she assured me that it was her best year of college too. So when I started, she gave me Ruby as a lucky charm. And now I'm letting you borrow her. Because that guy was seriously, _seriously_ hot, Chey. And this dress is like honey to men."

"I'm beginning to feel like you're introducing me to a cult." Cheyenne joked. Ana rolled her eyes, smiling gently. 

"Just find yourself a pair of heels and a coat." She said, giving her friend a quick shoulder squeeze before walking back into the living room. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The student bar wasn't a place Cheyenne was familiar with. All she knew was that the drinks were almost criminally cheap, and the bar staff never bothered asking for ID. Tonight it was filled with football players, celebrating the first win of the season in the only way they knew how - women, whiskey, and weed. They could be heard from halfway down the street, chanting something horrendously off-key. A few of them who she recognised from class raised a bottle or a glass in her direction as she passed them, but most were more interested in play fighting with each other or struggling to grasp the more fundamental concepts of pool in the corner. 

Dean was sat at a table off to the side, drumming his fingers lightly against the table when she walked in. His eyes flickered around the room from person to person, never lingering for more than a few seconds, before he spotted her. His face broke into a boyish grin as he waved her over, but as she got closer, she saw his expression change. His eyebrows shot for his hairline, and his jaw dropped - just a little - as he took in the dress. "Well hi."

"Hi." She felt herself blush under the intensity of his gaze, and smiled appreciatively at her as he pulled out a chair. "Thanks. I'm sorry I was late."

"Oh, sweetheart." The grin returned. "Don't apologise. Now, what are you drinking? Are we doing shots, give the evening a jump start?"

Cheyenne paused to think, as Dean shrugged off his leather jacket and leaned over the table on his elbow to look at her. "I'll have a shot of Fireball."

"Fire -?" Dean threw his head back, laughing. "I'm not ordering Fireball whiskey."

"Why not?!" She laughed. "What, the big tough guy doesn't like cinnamon whiskey?"

"No, the big tough guy doesn't want to order Canadian whiskey." Dean protested, still grinning. After a few seconds, he shook his head, chuckling. "Fine, fine. But it's not real whiskey, I need you to know that. It's maple syrup and hockey player sweat in a bottle."

Cheyenne watched him go, smiling to herself as he approached the bar and ordered their drinks. As he waited for the bartender, a girl Cheyenne didn't recognise walked up to him, perching herself on the stool next to him daintily. Dean glanced over at her, shot her a friendly smile, and turned back to the bar, tapping his fingers against the wood for a few seconds. 

Her phone buzzed on the table, and she flipped it open to see a text from Ana. _Is it working? Should I vacate the apartment?_

Cheyenne laughed, shaking her head. _I just got here, relax. He's getting us drinks._

"Miss me?" She looked up from her phone, snapping it closed and dropping it back into her purse as Dean returned with a tray of shots. A tray of eight shots. 

"You trying to get me drunk or something?" She laughed, picking up the first one. He merely smiled at her. 

"Wouldn't dream of it. What are we drinking to? World peace?" He joked. She laughed, clinking her glass against his. 

"World peace it is." She said, tipping her head back and taking the shot before slamming the glass back on the tray. Dean did the same, pulling a face. 

"That stuff is awful." He coughed, laughing. "I cannot believe I'm drinking Canadian whiskey for you." 

"Don't be a baby." She reached for her second shot as the familiar burn sank through from her throat to the pit of her stomach before fading. Together, they made their way through the eight shots, laughing after each one, until the tray was cleared. 

Cheyenne relaxed back in her seat as the alcohol began to flow through her system, smiling over at Dean through her lashes as he mirrored her movement. For a few moments, the two of them sat there in silence as the alcohol washed over them before he chuckled. "You planning on taking that coat off at any point?"

She looked down at herself and realised she was still wearing her duster. A couple of lazy, languid shrugs later, and her coat slid off her shoulders and pooled behind her back on the seat of her chair. "Better?"

Dean was biting his lip, one eyebrow cocked as he watched her. "Much." He grinned. "Ready for the next round?"


	2. Chapter 2

Before she even opened her eyes, Cheyenne knew something was different - she wasn't in her bedroom. This room smelled strongly like the inside of her local garage, mixed with a cologne she couldn't place. Sandalwood maybe? The sheets of this bed were rougher against her skin than her regular sheets, didn't smell like her fabric softener either. And then there was that heavy weight draped over her waist, that heat she could feel behind her. 

Slowly, she opened her eyes. She was in a crappy motel. The paint was peeling off the walls, and she was reasonably sure that dark patch where the wall met the ceiling wasn't just shadow. Was it mould? Thinking about it too much probably wasn't the best idea. Behind her, she could feel someone shifting, mumbling something as they stirred, and the arm slid off her as they rolled away from her. Cheyenne turned over onto her other side to look at Dean, his eyes still half closed and bleary from sleep as he checked the time. When he felt her move beside her, he glanced over, smiling drowsily. "Mornin'."

"Hey." She smiled gently, biting her lip shyly. This was new territory for her - going out drinking with a guy and ending up back in some crappy motel room with him was something that had only happened in some of her more desperate and depressing fantasies. In fact, all of last night had been something out of one of her fantasies.

They hadn't stayed at the bar for long after the second round of shots. She wasn't ordinarily a flirty drunk, but when she had a guy who looked as good as Dean sitting next to her, one hand on the back of her chair while the other inched toward her thigh, she was damned if she was going to pass up a good opportunity. She'd used "Ruby's" low neckline to her full advantage (a move Dean seemed to appreciate), leaning in close as he spoke until she was all but sitting in his lap. Their foreheads were practically touching as they spoke in hushed tones, Dean's eyes darting from her face to her chest and back again before finally, finally leaning in so his lips grazed her ear. "Why don't we get the hell out of here, hm?"

She'd had the good sense to ask him to take her back to her apartment to grab a few things, which he'd laughed at gently, but agreed to, following her up to her apartment with his hands resting lightly on her hips. When they'd walked through the door Ana was no-where to be found (thankfully - that wasn't a conversation Cheyenne could have faced). She'd grabbed some clothes and her toothbrush - another move Dean had laughed at - and they'd left, driving back to his dingy motel room. When they were inside, there were a few seconds of awkward silence before he'd closed the gap between them, arms sliding around her waist as he pulled her in close to kiss her. It had started out gentle enough, but after a few moments she was tugging at the front of his shirt, and he'd tossed her coat to the floor before walking her backwards to the bed. 

Afterwards, they'd stayed up talking for hours, shared a lazy cigarette while they joked quietly, and eventually dozed off in each other's arms, just as the sky was starting to get light outside. It had been amazing, but now, in the cold light of day, Cheyenne had a sinking suspicion he was going to thank her for the night, offer to drive her home, and walk out of her life. 

"Have I still got your lipstick 'round my mouth?" Dean mumbled, catching her staring. His voice was still rough from sleep, eyes still unfocused, and when he tried to wipe his lips, his movements were lazy and slow. She smiled gently in spite of herself; he actually did have a little lipstick in the corner of his mouth. 

"I can get it." She offered, leaning closer and smudging it away for him while one of his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer. 

"Last night was fun." He assured her, pressing his lips to hers gently. "How are you feeling?"

"A little bit of a hangover." She admitted. "Nothing fatal." 

Dean smiled gently, his head dropping back against the pillow as he looked up at her. "Good." He said quietly, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on her shoulders. "So... We should do this again. Soon."

"Is that your way of letting me down gently?" She said, only half joking. Dean chuckled again, shaking his head. 

"No, I actually mean that. I really had fun last night. And not just the sex." He added quickly, maybe sensing her apprehension. "It was really nice to just... sit up and talk a little, you know?"

"Yeah." Cheyenne couldn't help but lean into his touch a little as he stroked her hair back from her face. "I know what you mean." 

"So I think..." Dean sat up a little, leaning back against the headboard and pulling her in for a kiss. "Now is the part we exchange numbers, right?"

She sank into the kiss almost immediately. It was hard not to - he was so soft and warm and inviting, especially when his arms wrapped around her, pulling her to his chest. "I think that normally comes before the sex, but I'm not complaining."

"Oh trust me, neither am I." Dean assured her as she stood up and grabbed her cell phone from her bag, flipping it open to open a new contact space for him. As she knelt on the bed, Dean shifted closer to her, one hand splayed out on her thigh. He put his number into her phone before snapping it closed and tossing it to the end of the bed, looking back up at her with a grin that should have been illegal it was so attractive. "So... Before I drive you home..." 

His voice dripped with suggestion that sent a shiver down Cheyenne's spine, and the next thing she knew she was underneath him, her hands gripping onto his shoulders as his lips trailed across her chest and over the marks he'd left on her neck the night before. His lips were burning hot as he left kisses across her skin, up the column of her throat before finally meeting hers. She smiled into the kiss, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer as her eyes slipped closed, her forehead pressed to his.

 

* * *

 

 

That night Cheyenne curled up on the couch in the living room with a tub of Ben and Jerrys and the channel she knew usually showed reruns of Columbo. Her favourite throw was tucked up to her chin as she lounged, barely paying attention to the episode, even though it was one of her favourites. 

"Which one's this?"

Ana's voice startled her, and Cheyenne looked up quickly. "When did you get back?"

"Just got in." Her roommate took the space opposite her on the couch, pulling the other end of the throw over herself. "So which one is this?"

"It's the one where Janet Leigh kills her husband, but she doesn't even know she did it. She's got a brain disease so she doesn't even remember committing the crime. So this guy who's been in love with her for years -" She broke off to point her spoon at the screen as John Payne appeared. "That guy right there. He's been in love with her for years, so at the end, when Columbo realises what's going on, the guy tells him he's going to confess. He figures that in the time it takes for the police to realise that the woman killed her husband, she'll be dead and she'll never face any jail time." She paused, tipping her head to one side. "It's a sweet episode, really."

"Charming." Ana turned the volume down on the TV so that Columbo was simply waving his arms around and pointing to various things in silence before looking over at Cheyenne. "Anyway. Spill."

"Spill what?" She feigned innocence.

"Chey, you came home at 10 o'clock last night to grab a bag of clothes, and you didn't come back." She smirked, cocking an eyebrow. "You fucked that hot guy, and I want to know details."

"You're kind of a pervert, you know that right?" She dug her spoon into the carton, trying to loosen a particularly large chunk of cookie dough ice cream. 

A hand flew to Ana's chest, and for a second she tried to look offended. "Hey, I tell you all my juicy details."

"I never ask you to do that." She reminded her. "And besides, I can hear most of the details as they're happening; we've got thin walls."

"Details." Ana rolled her eyes, leaning in a little. "Spill."

Cheyenne cast her a reproachful look before glancing at the TV wistfully. It didn't look like she was going to get to watch the ending of the most heartbreaking episode of Columbo tonight. Slowly, she set her ice cream down on the coffee table. "It was a good night."

"That's it? Good?"

She offered a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know what you want me to tell you. We... went back to the motel he's staying in and -"

"You fucked." Ana cut in, grinning proudly at her. "Right? You fucked him?"

"Yes." Cheyenne laughed. "More than once. And I kind of figured that would be it, you know? We'd have sex, we'd fall asleep, and then in the morning we'd just tiptoe around each other awkwardly until I called a cab. But it... It wasn't like that."

"So what was it like?" Ana pressed. 

"We just stayed up talking. Like all night long, I can't even really remember what about." She bit her lip in an attempt to conceal a smile. "It was weird you know? I just felt like I could talk to him about anything."

Ana was nodding along slowly, and even though Cheyenne hadn't given her any of the grisly details she looked like she was being read the filthiest story ever written. "And then?"

"Then we fell asleep." She laughed. "And this morning we... You know..."

"Three times?" Ana whistled. "That's more sex than you've had in the past six months."

"Shut up." Cheyenne laughed. "Anyway, it wasn't awkward this morning, and we exchanged numbers but..."

"But what?" Ana sat up, reaching for the half-empty tub of ice cream. 

"I don't know if he's going to call." She shrugged lightly. "I don't think I'd really mind if he didn't. I mean, last night was amazing, don't get me wrong..." She trailed off, thinking about it. "But I don't really mind if that's where we leave it. It was a good night, that's all it had to be."

Ana was silent for a few minutes as she dug into the ice cream, before shooting her a smirk. "I told you, Ruby works every time." 

"Yeah yeah." She laughed as Ana got up to put the ice cream back in the kitchen, rolling her eyes. Hey, maybe the dress was a lucky sex-charm. She had to admit, even though it was racier than the cut she normally went for, she had looked good in it.

The short, sharp buzz of her phone on the coffee table stirred her, and when she opened it she couldn't help but smile. It was from Dean. 

_Had a great night. Text me if you ever want another round._

She couldn't stop the smile that blossomed across her face as she read the text. If she was being honest with herself, she really, really didn't want the night before to be the last time she saw him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It didn't take long for Dean to end up in her bed. It was a matter of days, in fact, until she caved and asked if he was free to come over. She was struggling her way through some coursework, bored and frustrated while Dean's offer played through her head over and over. She gave in, abandoning her pride and picking up the phone to call. Less than thirty minutes after she'd hung up the phone he was standing in her doorway, leaning against the doorframe and looking down at her through hooded eyes. She explained quietly that her roommate was still in, so they'd have to keep the noise down, but Dean only laughed, tossing his jacket on the couch before wrapping his arms around her waist. 

"Not fucking likely." He chuckled, kissing her slowly, his tongue grazing her lower lip with the most gentle of touches. Once again she found herself melting into his touch, and all of a sudden she didn't really care if Ana heard them. All the better if she did, maybe she wouldn't ask so many questions later. Cheyenne grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to kiss her again and taking him by surprise. She felt him grin against her lips, felt his hands roam down her back and over the curve of her ass before he grabbed the back of her thighs, lifting her up with surprising ease. "Which room is yours?"

She pointed blindly, her fingers already working to undo the buttons of his flannel as he walked them into her room, kicking the door shut behind them before turning and pressing her up against it, sandwiching her between his chest and the unforgiving wood. As much of a turn on as it was to be picked up so effortlessly, Cheyenne was really just glad he hadn't accidentally pushed her up against the door handle. A bruised spine _really_ would have killed the mood. 

Dean lowered her slowly, kissing her until her feet touched the floor again before putting one hand either side of her head, caging her in against the door as he grinned down at her. "You okay there?"

"You wear too many layers." She mumbled, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt as she tried to get them undone. He laughed, helping her the rest of the way and tossing it aside, somewhere in the corner of the room where they'd have to hunt for it later. 

"Could say the same about you." He teased gently, his fingers playing with the hem of the thin sweater she'd thrown on over herself. Slowly - almost gently - he pulled it up and over her head, before throwing it with his shirt. "I see what you mean though, we should both be a lot more naked right now."

"Less talking." She mumbled, tugging at the bottom of his shirt as a non-verbal command to lift his arms so she could take it off. "More naked."

"Hey." He helped her get it over his head, smiling. "No arguments here."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cheyenne couldn't avoid the shit eating grin on Ana's face for long after Dean left. To give her roommate some credit where credit was due she hadn't burst into the room immediately after they'd finished having sex to congratulate them, and she'd stayed in her bedroom while Dean was leaving. He'd pulled her into his arms again, a lazy grin stretching his lips as he'd leaned down to kiss her, whispering in her ear with a damn-near  _sinful_  tone that they should hook up again. Soon. 

Almost as soon as the door closed behind him however, Cheyenne could feel a pair of dark eyes on her. Low and behold, when she turned around Ana was stood in the doorway to her room, and she had an ear to ear grin on her face, shaking her head slowly. 

"I've got to get me a study buddy like that." She laughed. "Have you seen yourself? There's no denying you just got _dream_ _dick_."

"Please." She shook her head slowly, grabbing a soda from the fridge. "Never say that again." 

"Hey, if you're going to fuck that loudly in my house -"

"We share the rent payment equally."

"Shut  _up_ , Chey." Ana said calmly, before starting again. "If you're going to be making noises that would put actual professional porn stars to shame, then I earn the right to comment on it."

Cheyenne tried to be angry with Ana, or at least pretend to be, but she couldn't hold the frown and pursed lips for more than a few seconds before she started laughing, leaning on the kitchen counter. She took a sip of her soda before motioning at her with it, inviting her to speak. "Okay, go ahead. Comment."

Ana paused for a second, trying to think of a way to summarise her thoughts. "The two of you are obscene."

"Oh, I know." She winked, walking past her roommate and heading towards her bedroom. "I've got to take a shower, I'll talk to you later."

"So what is this, you and Dean?" Ana's voice was a little more serious now, enough to make Cheyenne stop and turn to face her. "Is he like... Your boyfriend?"

"I doubt he'd appreciate the label." She laughed. "We've slept together twice. I don't think he's my anything."

"So you're like... Fuck buddies?" Ana raised an eyebrow, folding her arms slowly. "Chey..."

She recognised that tone of voice. Ana had a terrifying way of imitating her own mother when she wanted. This voice usually came out when Cheyenne stayed up all night watching  _Friends_ reruns, or the time she managed to eat her way through two packs of Reece's Pieces in one day and had nearly thrown up. It was a mixture of maternal disappointment and trepidation.

"What?"

"This isn't like you." Ana said quietly. "Going out to some scummy motel with a guy you barely even know? Fucking him while I'm in the apartment?  _Loudly_? I mean come on, it was almost like you guys were putting on a show with that stuff. I just... I've never seen you get like this because of a guy." She sighed, her hands waving around in front of her as she searched for the right way to summarise how she felt. "I just don't want you to get hurt because of this guy."

Cheyenne was surprised, taken aback by the support. She and Ana had been friends all through first year, close enough friends that they decided to live together in fact. Despite that, they had never really done the sisterhood 'I'm looking out for you' routine. She was touched, to say the least. "Ana, I'm just... having fun. Dean and I aren't serious, we're not... Anything really. I'm not about to go and fall in love with the guy just because we had sex a few times And besides, I get the impression he won't be in town for long anyway." 

"Why not?"

She chuckled lightly. "He stays in a motel, he's not a student here. I think he's just... passing through. He's probably going to lose my number as soon as he puts this town in his rearview mirror."

"And you're okay with that?" Ana was clearly surprised, and had every right to be. Cheyenne's last relationship had been the opposite of Dean. With Marcus she'd been cautious, slow. They'd had a few casual dates before even kissing, let alone having sex. Meaningless, fun, forget-my-name-in-two-weeks sex was never something Cheyenne had ever expressed an interest in. To tell the truth, it had never been something she had been interested in.

After all the horror stories she'd heard, the idea of casual sex with a stranger terrified her, but with Dean everything just seemed to work. He was new and exciting, and reeked of that bad-boy mystery that was normally found in trashy young adult romance novels. After her relationship with Marcus - which she could only describe as bland - Cheyenne figured she deserved some fun. And Dean was _nothing_ if not fun. 

"I wasted last year on a guy who really wasn't worth it." She smiled gently, shrugging. "My College years are supposed to be my wild years right? These are supposed to be the years I make stupid, childish mistakes. So let's just let Dean be a happy little mistake, alright? And besides - you're the one that wanted me to go for it, remember?"

"Alright." Ana said slowly, one eyebrow still cocked sceptically. "Just remember this in a month's time when you're pining for that dream dick, okay?"

Cheyenne laughed, turning back to her room. "Sure, I'll remember to tell you 'I told you so', don't worry."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next couple of weeks they saw each other a lot. Dean would text her and pick her up to take her back to his motel room, or show up at her door with a six pack of beer in his hand and that lopsided grin, and she'd always let him in. Either way, whether they were in the damp, musty motel room or in the comfort of her bedroom, after a few hours he'd always make an excuse that was vague and nondescript enough to let her know that it was  _just_  an excuse. Then they'd get dressed, and he'd either drive her home or walk out to his car, and they'd say their goodbyes before he was gone for another day.

It was about three weeks of this casual arrangement before Cheyenne started to notice something was off. She'd called him late one night, asked if he'd wanted to come over, and for the first time he seemed hesitant, verging on turning her down before eventually agreeing. It was nearly an hour before he showed up, by which point she'd nearly fallen asleep. When she opened the door to him she was surprised at how disheveled he looked. His clothes were scuffed, his knuckles bloody and his face bruised. Still, he managed a smile for her. "Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?" 

"Dean, what happened?" She hissed, ushering him inside and into her room. He shrugged off his jacket, and tossed it over the back of her desk chair like normal, smiling gently up at her. 

"It's nothing, don't worry about it." He chuckled. "I uh... Got into a bar fight."

"A bar fight?" She echoed quietly, sinking down onto the bed next to him and looking at his scraped knuckles a little closer. They were just starting to heal, but they were fairly fresh. Whatever had happened to him, it had happened that night. "When?"

"Tonight. Went out for a couple of drinks, said something this asshole didn't appreciate." His eyes crinkled at the corners as she grabbed a first aid kit from under her desk and brought it back to him. "Honestly, don't worry about it. This is nothing." 

She ignored him, opening up the kit and pulling out antiseptic wipes. Dean couldn't help but laugh at her concern as she fretted, setting about cleaning his knuckles and wiping them down before asking - three times - if he was hurt anywhere else. A few scrapes and bruises was his average Wednesday night, so much so that after it had happened he'd all but forgotten about the stinging. It never occurred to him that average people would react a little differently. "I promise you, Cheyenne. I'm fine." 

When she looked up at him, her eyes were narrowed and her lower lip stuck out a little. "Shut up and let me help you, okay?"

"This ain't the worst fight I've been in." He assured her, dipping his head to kiss her gently and cupping her jaw with one hand. "So why don't we put the doctor's kit away, hm?"

"If I even see you wince we're stopping." She warned him, pulling back just enough that she could shoot him a warning look. Dean moved his hand to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling into her hair as he leaned back in. 

"Trust me, I don't think I'm going to be wincing." He assured her, before kissing her slowly. She returned the kiss, hesitantly at first before he pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her closer. The first aid kit slid off the bed and onto the floor, and Cheyenne moved to pick it up on instinct, but Dean held her tighter. "Leave it. We'll get it later."

She didn't need telling twice, and instead she sunk back into Dean's kiss, her fingers sliding into his messy hair as he laid back against the bed. 

 

* * *

 

 

Ordinarily, he'd be gone by now. 

In fact, ordinarily he'd have gone not long after they'd finished. He'd have left her with one more chaste kiss for the road before hopping into his car and heading back to the motel to do more research, pushing her to the back of his mind so he could concentrate on the case. That night though, he'd been exhausted. After weeks of tracking that vampire nest with his dad, running on two hours of sleep and too much coffee, Dean needed one good nights sleep to recharge before heading back out. 

He had to admit, it was good to wake up in a room that didn't smell vaguely like chlorine with sandpaper bedsheets and ice cold water in the showers. Her room smelt like... Something feminine. He had no idea what it was, but whatever it was, it was light and fresh and sweet and he  _liked_ it. Her bed wasn't particularly big, but considering the fact that she'd basically slept on top of him through the night, it wasn't that big of a deal. And waking up next to another person? Feeling her warm skin against his, her breath tickle his neck? It was so comforting and inviting. Just what the doctor ordered.

She was stirring in his arms as he stared up at the ceiling, murmuring something in her sleep. His lips twitched into a brief semi-smile as he glanced down at her, watching as she rolled so her back was to him. For a few seconds she was still, her breathing steady, before her head raised slowly, and she rolled onto her back, turning her head to look at him. She looked almost surprised to see him still there. "Dean?"

"Unless you had some other guy over last night." He teased gently. 

"No." She shook her head, rubbing her eyes blearily. "I just... Didn't think you'd stay the whole night. Not that I'm complaining."

"Well, I figured I should wait and ask the doctor if she thought it was safe for me to go." He grinned, pulling her closer so her chest was against his. "I mean, what's your professional medical opinion after that very  _thorough_  checkup you gave me last night?" 

She laughed, opening her mouth to respond when they heard his phone buzz on the nightstand. In an instant, the playful smile disappeared, and Dean was rolling away from her to get it. He recognised the caller ID as soon as he picked it up. "Hey..."

"Dean, where the hell have you been? I thought you were only going out for a couple of hours?" 

Cheyenne saw the muscles in Dean's shoulders stiffen as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. He stood up, walking to the other end of the room, his back still to her as he listened. He made a couple of interjections, a few 'yes sir's' and 'I know, sir's, but other than that he stayed silent. Finally, he hung up the phone and turned back to her, sighing. "I have to go."

"Just like that?" She sat up properly. "Dean..."

"I'm sorry, it's important." He said quietly, grabbing his jeans and pulling them on quickly. "It's my dad, he needs my help with something." 

She watched him silently as he searched for his t-shirt and flannel, pulling the duvet up around herself to cover herself. He sat down on the bed to pull on his boots and glanced over at her, sighing. She was avoiding his gaze, didn't want him to see the disappointment on her face. "Hey, I'm sorry. But this is important, really... really important. I have to go."

"It's okay." She said quietly, still not quite meeting his gaze. "Go, it's fine."

He felt a pang of guilt in his chest - if his dad hadn't called, he probably would have stayed in bed with her all day. Instead he had to go back to his motel room where his dad was waiting for him, angry that Dean had 'wasted a whole night' at Cheyenne's, and hunt Vampires. "Hey, I'll call you later if I can. Maybe we can finish what we started here?"

Finally she looked up at him, smiling gently and nodding. "Sure. I'll talk to you later."

Dean cupped her cheek, leaning in for one gentle, barely-there kiss before standing up and walking out, leaving her alone in her room, staring up at the ceiling. As he drove away from her apartment building, Led Zeppelin playing through the speakers, Dean tried to push her out of his mind. Normally he'd have no problem: he had a job to focus on with life or death consequences, and that was far more important than any girl. Nonetheless, he couldn't shake that guilty feeling the whole way back to the motel room, couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to turn the Impala around and head back to her. 

Hey, at least he'd get to kill something today.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dean Winchester hated Vampires. In fact, he hated pretty much every supernatural being that wanted to eat him, but there was something about Vampires that really really pissed him off. Maybe it was the fact that they travelled in packs, so you never had to gank one or two, you had to deal with six or seven of the fanged freaks coming at you. Maybe it was the fact that they multiplied so fast; all they needed was a town full of eligible young drug addicts or idiots and boom, they could double their nest. Or maybe he just didn't enjoy cutting their heads off. 

Tonight had been particularly unpleasant. They'd arrived in town after the disappearance of a girl called Angela Marks - blonde, petite and pretty, as Dean had noted from the missing person report - along with another three missing women. John had suspected Vampires before they'd even gotten into town, so Dean had set about sharpening knives for them for days in his motel room. He assumed (they both did) that the girls had been taken to be fed on, and that when they eventually got into the nest, all they would find would be the dried out remains. That was why it came as a shock to Dean when Angela Marks tried to rip his throat out with her teeth. 

All of the girls had been taken so they could be turned. They were in varying stages of the transformation, with Angela the only one showing the full signs of being a Vampire. There was one girl, the one most recently taken, who was tied up, her head hanging to one side and her eyes squeezed shut. Dean crouched beside her, trying to rouse her. "Hey... Can you hear me?"

She was turning, he could tell. She was sweating, shaking in his arms and moaning every time he spoke, even when he whispered. Everything was too much for her, the lights (virtually nonexistent) were too bright, the smell of his soap was too strong. Ingesting Vampire blood was like doing a speedball while high on meth - everything went into overdrive and there was no way to stop it until the transformation was complete. Even though Dean knew what she was becoming, knew how dangerous she was he couldn't help but take pity on her. There was something pathetic about the way she was crying, the way her eyes rolled back as she tried to focus on him. She was terrified. She thought she was dying, or at least she hoped she was.  

"You need to do it, son." 

John's voice behind him steadied him, strengthened his resolve. He was right. This girl wasn't human, at least not any more. He needed to kill her, and fast. It didn't matter that she was scared, or begging him to help her. It didn't matter that the handle of the knife in his hand was slippery from sweat. It didn't matter that -

He barely had time to register the sound of John's machete cut through the air before he felt the young girl's body jerk in his arms. Her head rolled away across the dusty floor a few feet, leaving a trail of blood behind it. John was stood above him, wiping his machete clean with a thunderous expression on his face. Slowly, Dean lowered the headless body to the floor and looked up at his father.

"I told you to kill her." John said coldly, his lip curling in seething disappointment as he turned away from his eldest son. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

Dean's voice was barely above a whisper as he stood up, tucking his knife into the sheath at his side and checking he had his gun. "Yes, sir."

 

 

* * *

 

 

He'd sounded different on the phone. Normally when he called she could all but hear the smirk over the line, she could practically see him biting his lip. Tonight he'd sounded tired, defeated. "Can I come over?"

When he came over he barely said anything, and he avoided her gaze. He never made a move to touch her or kiss her, only asked for a drink and sat down on her bed, his head in his hands. Confused, and more than a little worried, she poured two glasses of whiskey and handed him one, sitting beside him on the bed. "Dean, what's going on?"

"Nothin'." He mumbled, still looking at the floor instead of at her. "Just... a long night."

"Has it got something to do with you rushing off this morning?" She asked quietly. He swilled the whiskey around in the glass for a few seconds, offering her a lame shrug in response. He still refused to look at her.

"Sort of. It's not important."

"Okay..." Again, her voice was quiet, hesitant. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He paused to drink, finishing the glass in one gulp and wincing as it burned his throat. "No." 

This was always how he felt whenever he screwed up on a hunt. Even if it was minor, even if it barely affected the outcome, this was always how he ended up. Feeling sorry for himself with a fifth of whiskey warming his stomach. 

And he always managed to screw up. 

He'd do something wrong. There wouldn't be enough shells loaded for John's taste, or Dean picked the wrong seedy motel for them to stay in, or he hesitated for a _split second_ in cutting off a girl's head. There was always something wrong. And this was always the result. 

"I'm leaving tomorrow." When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, and when she didn't react he thought she hadn't heard him. He opened his mouth to repeat it when she spoke. 

"Oh." 

Finally he looked up and met her gaze. Now she was the one who couldn't hold eye contact for more than a few seconds. Slowly, she took a sip of her drink. "Well I guess we had a fun few weeks, right?" 

"Yeah." He said quietly, looking around the room for the bottle so he could pour himself another drink. "I guess we did." 

"I kind of figured you wouldn't be in town long." She admitted. "You didn't give off the impression you were making a home here or anything."

"I travel for work." He offered, pouring himself a double. And then a little extra. "So I'm never really anywhere for long. You kind of get used to it after a while."

"That's kind of got to suck." 

He shrugged, sitting back down next to her, eyes focused on his glass again. "I guess. We travelled a lot when I was a kid too, so it's kind of all I've ever known." 

"Your dad just picked you up and took you on the road with him?"

"Yep." Dean took another sip of his drink. "Me and my brother, Sammy."

One of her eyebrows shot up, and she sat back a little. "You never told me you had a brother."

"There's a lot I haven't told you." He pointed out, regretting it almost immediately. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I know we haven't exactly had a... Sharing and caring relationship over the past few weeks." She offered a wry smile, finishing her drink before standing to pour herself another. After a second, she thought better of it and brought the bottle back instead. He couldn't help but laugh, clinking his glass against the bottle. 

"I like the way you think." 

"Hey, I don't know when I'm next going to find a drinking partner this fun." She took a swig from the bottle before passing it over. "I've got to take advantage of it." 

"Know any good drinking games?" Dean asked, grinning at her. After a second of thought, Cheyenne bit her lip, walking over to her desk to search for something. When she turned back around she was holding a deck of cards. 

"I'm thinking truth or dare or strip poker." She said, coming back to the bed. He thought about warning her that he hustled poker as a primary source of income, but reconsidered after a second as she leaned forward and he caught a glimpse of her bra. 

"You know, strip poker sounds fun."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Goodbyes were difficult whether you'd known a person for three years or three weeks, Cheyenne decided. She'd known from day one that Dean was only going to be a fun, meaningless fling. Some good (scratch that - _fantastic_ ) sex, some fun company but nothing more. Nevertheless, when she was stood outside her building with a bitch of a hangover she couldn't help as that familiar pang filled her chest, right around her heart. She didn't want him to get in his car and drive off, not now that she knew it was going to be the last time. As they'd gotten dressed that morning, she'd told herself over and over again not to get clingy or weird, but when they were stood outside, and he had one hand on the door of the Impala she couldn't help herself. She wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug, burying her face into his chest and catching him off guard. He chuckled lightly as he hugged her back, and she could feel it reverberate through his chest, could feel the scruff on his chin as he rested it on the top of her head. 

"I'm going to miss you." She told his chest. He might have responded, she wasn't totally sure. 

Finally, they pulled apart. Dean kissed her gently, his hands cupping her cheeks as hers gripped the front of his shirt. He stroked her hair back from her face with more tenderness than either of them had expected before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

"Take care of yourself, okay?" He said quietly, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he gripped onto the driver's side door. "I mean it."

"I will." She whispered, managing a small smile. "You too."

Dean hesitated for a second, wavering by the door for a few moments before eventually sliding into the driver's seat. She heard the creak of the Impala's 40 year old door, the rumble of the engine, and then he was gone. 

She was back up in her apartment sifting through textbooks only ten minutes later when her phone rang. She reached for it blindly and answered without bothering to check the caller ID. "Hello?"

"So I was thinking..." Dean began. "I'm only in Ohio for a couple of weeks, and then... Depending on where the next job is, I was thinking..."

Cheyenne sat back against her headrest slowly, smiling. "Yeah?"

"I was thinking maybe I could swing by your place?" He suggested. His tone was light, almost breezy, but with just a hint of hopefulness. She couldn't help the grin when she replied. 

"You know, I think I'll still be here in two weeks time."


	4. Chapter 4

The job in Ohio took two weeks, like Dean had expected. In the motel room after the hunt, while John packed up his notes and organised them meticulously, Dean waited to hear about the next job, his leg bouncing unconsciously. 

"Cut it out, Dean." John muttered from across the room without bothering to look up. "Or I'll cut it off."

"Sorry, sir." Dean said quietly, his leg going still in an instant. He stood up instead, it was easier than just sitting still. "Have you got any news about the next job?'

"You sure are eager." His father closed the lid on one of his lockboxes before moving onto the next stack of files. "No job. I've got a few errands to run a few states over though, so you can stay put while I do those. I'll call ahead with any jobs I hear of." He glanced over at his son. "Make yourself useful, take this box out to my car."

"How long are you going to be?" He asked, walking over to the table and picking the box of files up. John shrugged, already looking away from him. 

"Two days, maybe three."

"Two days?" Dean echoed, nodding slowly. He figured it would take him about six hours to get to Cheyenne's, so if he left now he could get there by eleven. "Okay... Okay, cool."

"Dean." John said pointedly, irritation lacing his tone. "Box. Car. Now."

He apologised quickly, walking out of the motel room and into the parking lot with the box. Should he call her now, let her know he was coming? That would probably be better than showing up unannounced at her doorstep. 

Dean pulled his phone out of his back pocket as he walked towards his father's car, dialling her number. It rang twice before she picked up. "Dean?"

"Hey." He smiled gently, dropping the box into the backseat and slamming the car door closed. "How've you been?"

"I've been okay. It's been weird without our uh... Arrangement though." He could almost hear her boy smile across the line.

"Oh..." He leaned against the car, smirking. "So you've missed me?"

"Shut up." She laughed for a second. "Are you finished in Ohio?"

"Just finishing up soon. I could be there later tonight, if you're free?"

She gave a long drawn out sigh, clicking her tongue. "You know, I'm not sure... I might have plans... With this guy..."

Dean felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. She had plans with another guy? "Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean he's kind of a jerk, travels a lot apparently. And I'm assuming he can only stay for a night or two..."

Relief washed over him so quickly it almost surprised him. She was talking about  _him_. Of course she was. Stupid. "Oh!" He chuckled. "Do I sense a 'but' coming?"

"I mean he's really good in bed. Like... Phenomenal. I mean seriously, I may jump his bones the second he walks through the door."

He couldn't help but laugh, and was about to respond when he spotted John walking out of their motel room, headed towards him. "I don't think he'll have a problem with that. Listen... I've got to go, but I'll see you later, okay?"

"Don't keep me waiting, Winchester." She teased. He heard her quiet laughter on the other end before the line went dead, and allowed himself a small smile before stuffing his phone back into his pocket as John neared. 

"Still got stuff to pack, Dean." John reminded him, shoving a duffel into his arms. "Come on, we're wasting daylight."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cheyenne hung up the phone, still smiling to herself. She'd honestly missed him more than she'd expected, even though she'd told herself over and over and over again that it was just sex, that she was just a fling to him, that he'd probably forget her name in a week or two. Even though she hadn't said anything to Ana (she didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was right), her roommate had been able to sense the change in her mood. 

"Let me guess." Cheyenne turned quickly at the sound of Ana's voice behind her as she came into the kitchen. "That was him?"

"How'd you know?"

"I haven't seen you smile like that in two weeks." Ana opened the fridge and peered inside. "I'm assuming that's now your 'I'm getting dicked down tonight' smile."

Cheyenne rolled her eyes, grinning. "Shut up. I mean... You're right, but still. Shut up."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, I'm not going to be in the apartment tonight, so you two can be as loud as you want." Ana shot her a familiar smirk. "And you're not the only one getting her booty call."

"Oh, you've finally got a grown up date with George?" Cheyenne leaned on the counter, looking over at her friend. A week before, Ana had met a guy at the student cafe, and since then she hadn't shut up about him. The two were constantly texting or messaging online, and for two nights in a row Cheyenne had been able to hear Ana talking on the phone for hours. She seemed happier, almost bubbly. She hadn't even made fun of Cheyenne's 'pining for the dream dick', even though they both knew she wanted to. 

"I'm going over to his place, and he's going to cook us dinner." She smiled wistfully, leaning against the fridge as she gazed up at the ceiling.. "And then I'm going to ride him into the sunset."

"Gross." Cheyenne pulled a face. "TMI, Ana. TMI."

"Oh please, like I didn't have to live with Too Much Information about you and Dean." She teased gently, bumping Cheyenne's shoulder as she passed her. "You know, I'd kind of like to meet him properly at some point. Seeing as how he's nailing my best friend."

"Yeah, I'm sure Dean wants nothing more than to meet my friends so they can interrogate him." She rolled her eyes. "You and Jake are worse than parents. You remember what you did to Marcus?"

Ana shrugged. "Marcus is a bad example. I knew you could do better than him, and so did Jake. We were just... testing out his resolve. And you're lucky we did. I figure if a guy can't handle a few personal questions -"

"You asked him what his favourite sex position was." Cheyenne countered with a grin.

"A few  _very personal questions_." Ana corrected herself, shrugging. "Then he obviously isn't good enough for you. I only want the best for you, Chey."

"Yeah, yeah." Cheyenne pointed at her. "No interrogating Dean, okay? I don't want you scaring off my booty call just because your Den Mother instincts kick in. Now go get ready for your date."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was almost midnight by the time Dean arrived. He only hoped that she wasn't already asleep and that he wouldn't have to spend the night on the backseat of the Impala when he knocked twice. After waiting for a few moments, he had a sinking feeling that she had already fallen asleep, and raised his hand to knock again when the door opened. "Dean!"

She was dressed only in a t-shirt and her underwear, and judging by the lack of makeup and the glasses he'd never seen before, Dean assumed she'd been about to turn in when he'd knocked. He couldn't help the grin that split his face. She really was a good sight to walk in to. "Hey..."

Before he'd even stepped into the apartment one of her hands was tugging on his shirt and the other was in his hair. She pulled him down enough to kiss him and pressed herself up against him the best she could as he stumbled forwards a few steps, just enough so he was in the threshold of the apartment. After a second, he pulled back, just enough to grin down at her. "You really did miss me then, huh?"

"Shut up." She laughed breathlessly, her hands pushing at the shoulders of his leather jacket until it slid off him and hit the floor. His arms were around her, pulling her against him, and then one hand was in her hair as he kissed her hard, surprised at how much he'd missed the feeling of her lips on his. He was walking her backwards blindly, wasn't even sure where in the apartment they were as his hands moved over her body and she blindly fiddled with the buttons on his flannel. Her back hit one of the counters in the kitchen, and without thinking his hands were gripping the backs of her thighs, lifting her until she was perched on the counter, where he finally pulled back a little to look at her. They were almost at eye height now, grinning at each other while their chests rose and fell heavily, almost in unison. 

"You really did miss me." He teased gently as she unbuttoned his flannel, pushing it down his arms until it fluttered to the floor. She didn't bother responding, just grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and tugged on it until he got the hint and pulled it over his head, discarding it. "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but don't you have a roommate?"

"Out." She said quickly, and then her lips were on his again. That was all the encouragement Dean needed. Her t-shirt was up and over her head a few seconds later, and then she was stood in front of him, kissing her way down his chest and stomach with almost agonising slowness. He groaned gently, his eyes slipping closed as he felt her lips on his skin. After two weeks of sleeping in rough motels and hunting with his dad, this was exactly the kind of stress relief he needed. Slowly, Dean allowed himself to sink into the moment, get completely lost in it until his mind went blank.


	5. Chapter 5

He was staring at her again. She'd told him off for it twice already, but she could feel his eyes on her again. The hairs on the back of her neck rose to attention, as if on command, and sure enough when she turned her head to look at him, he was staring down at her, lower lip caught between his teeth. His eyes flickered back to the TV in an instant, so quickly that if she'd blinked she would have missed it. "You're doing it again."

"Got no idea what you're talking about." He shrugged, eyes glued to the screen. "I'm watching Dr Sexy."

"Cut it out." She laughed, hitting his leg gently. "You're distracting." 

"I'm just sitting here." A grin ghosted his lips, and his gaze met hers for a few seconds. "Not doing anything." 

"Mmh..." Cheyenne narrowed her eyes, turning back to her textbook and pulling her highlighter from where she'd tucked it behind her ear. Over the past two months she'd realised studying while Dean was at her apartment was a difficult task. Admittedly, it wasn't entirely his fault that she was getting distracted; after all she'd told him to sit on the bed and not touch or talk to her, and he'd followed her instructions exactly. He hadn't spoken to her unless she'd said something first, and he'd kept his hands off her. Nonetheless, every so often she'd find herself getting distracted by him. Sometimes he'd make a comment about whatever he was watching - more to himself than to her - and she'd end up getting roped into a conversation about Dr Sexy's cowboy boots for twenty minutes. Sometimes he'd just laugh at whatever he was watching, and she'd be the one to end up staring at him until he caught her. Today, though, he was paying more attention to her than to the show. 

"I have to concentrate, I have a test on Monday." She told him matter-of-factly. "And you're being a pain in the ass." 

"I promise you I'm just sitting here." He assured her, that familiar lopsided grin on his lips. "Just like you told me to."

Cheyenne caught the end of her highlighter between her teeth, biting down gently to secure it as she watched him turn the volume up. Dr Sexy's voice filled her room, and for a few moments she watched the TV over her shoulder. As he strode through the halls of the hospital, impossibly shiny hair bouncing around his shoulders like a chestnut halo, Cheyenne could see nurses gawking at him in the background. "Okay, what is your obsession with this show?"

"I don't have an obsession." His voice was defensive. "I also don't have cable in my motel room, so this is like the only time I can watch it."

"Yeah, yeah..." She said quietly, turning back to her book. "Just let me do another half hour of work, okay? I just need to finish this chapter."

He chuckled, shaking his head slowly as he looked back at the screen, and for a moment she thought he was laughing at her. He must have seen the look on her face out of the corner of his eye, because he turned back to look at her quickly. "You remind me of Sammy so much." 

"Your brother?" She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Not really something you generally hear from the guy you're sleeping with, but I'll give you a second to expand on that."

Dean thought about it for a moment, before turning down the volume on the TV. "Just uh... He was a lot like you when it came to schoolwork. He'd always come back from school with a stack of homework nearly as tall as him." Dean chuckled, gazing off into middle distance, almost as if he could see his brother in front of him. "Every day, without fail, that kid would come back, set himself up on whatever sorry excuse for a desk we had and work through every worksheet, homework assignment... Any scrap of work his teachers gave him." 

"I'm assuming you were more of the 'leave it until last minute' guy?" She couldn't exactly picture Dean diligently working on an English assignment under a desk lamp until 2 in the morning.

"Oh, I was more of the uh... 'Dog ate my homework, Mrs Morrison!' guy." He winked at her. "But Sammy? Nah, it didn't matter how much we travelled - and we travelled a lot - he'd always have his nose in some book, the little geek. I'd pick him up from school and he'd be talking about what  _this_  teacher said about his work, or how  _that_  teacher thought he was a child prodigy..." He gave another light chuckle, his eyes still focused somewhere in the middle distance.

It was an odd juxtaposition; there was so much tenderness in his voice - so much fondness - but the delicate line between his brows and the sadness in those big green eyes gave something else away. "Dean?"

His eyes snapped back to her, and in an instant the sadness was gone, and he was smiling again. "Mmh?" 

Her textbook fell shut when she took her hand away from the page and shuffled a little closer. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'." He said quickly. Too quickly to be believable, and he must have known that. After a moment he sighed, offering her a defensive shrug in some kind of lame response. "Haven't seen him in a while."

"Why not?"

"He got into this big fight with our dad." Dean's voice was quiet, and he expertly avoided her gaze as he spoke. "The night he left for college. Haven't spoken to him since. That was... Six months ago. I mean, he and dad butted heads a lot, but this was just... apocalyptic. I mean the way they screamed at each other, the things they said to each other. Hell, I could never imagine saying half the things Sam said to him..." He could hear himself starting to ramble, trip over his words a little, and he shut his mouth quickly to stop himself, feeling his cheeks grow warm. He'd never told anyone about the night Sam packed his bags and left for Stanford, let alone a girl he was sleeping with. 

"I'm sorry." She whispered, touching his knee gently. He stiffened under her touch, and she could see the muscles in his shoulders bunch up under his shirt. He still wasn't meeting her gaze, but she could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. She pulled her hand back, letting it drop onto the duvet between them, and after a few moments of silence he cleared his throat. 

"How about some food, huh? You've got to be starving after studying all day, right?" His tone was upbeat, but the grin was a little too wide, did quite reach his eyes like it normally did. "How about I run and get us some food from the diner a few blocks from here? I could kill for a bacon cheeseburger."

He barely even waited for a response before he was over by the door pulling his boots on and grabbing his jacket. She watched him grab his wallet off the dresser and murmur something about being back soon, and then he was gone, and the door was closing with a soft click behind him. Cheyenne sat back in the space he'd vacated, sighing as she looked down at her book. After watching him walk out like that, she didn't really feel like going back to studying, so instead she picked up the remote and turned up  _Dr Sexy, MD_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He didn't talk to her about Sam again for a while after that. Even when he came back with the food that night he made sure to change the subject as soon as he was through the door, and she caught the hint that he wasn't in the mood to talk about his younger brother. Instead, she filled him in on what he'd missed on the show, and he offered to quiz her before her test. She was surprised with how seriously he took his job, taking the time to look through her flashcards and organise them before he started grilling her. After a while she could have sworn he was actually getting interested in the topic - every so often he'd stop and ask her a question that she knew wasn't from one of her flashcards, and he seemed to actually pay attention to the answers he was being given. 

That night she fell asleep curled up in his arms, too tired to even bother getting out of her jeans. Dean laid awake for hours listening to her steady breathing, the faint smell of her shampoo tickling his nose as he stroked absent minded circles on her shoulders. He was thinking about Sam, replaying the night he'd left for Stanford over and over in his head. Normally he could get in between them, calm them down when they were threatening to tear each others throats out. He was the calming influence in the room, but that night there was nothing he could say or do to stop them. 

Maybe if Dean hadn't let Sam say some of the things he'd said to John he wouldn't have told Sam to stay gone. Maybe if Dean had gotten in between them faster it wouldn't have escalated so quickly. Maybe if Dean had physically broken them apart, screamed at them to stop, Sam wouldn't have turned and walked out of the door. He could have changed that night in so many ways if only he hadn't frozen up and let it unfold in front of him until it was too late. 

Dean sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 3:05.

If he was really honest with himself, he knew there was nothing that he could have said or done to stop the fight from ending the way it did. That fight had been bubbling under the surface for months, hell, maybe even years. He could have screamed himself hoarse in that room, neither of them would have paid him the slightest bit of attention. He was a spectator to their play, and nothing he could have done would have pulled them apart. He was only able to watch as years of frustration and anger spilled out of Sam's mouth.

It was one of the worst nights of his life. Nothing compared to that sinking feeling in his gut when the door had slammed shut behind his younger brother. Sure, Sam had run off before, wandered off on his own for a few days at a time, but that was nothing compared to this. There was a finality in the slam of the door, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs down to the street, the engine of his car as he burned rubber getting away from them. And the way he'd  _looked_  at Dean. The anger - nothing close to how he'd looked at John, of course - more anger than Dean had ever seen on his little brother's face. Even half a year later it made Dean feel sick to think about. His whole life he'd hoped he would never earn that look from Sam. He saw it enough from John that he was almost used to it, but Sam had  _never_  looked at Dean with that amount of anger, that amount of disappointment. 

It had been a long six months, he decided, his fingers drawing lazier, looser circles on Cheyenne's shoulder as his eyes started to close. 

A long, long six months. 

 

* * *

 

 

When Cheyenne woke the next morning Dean was gone. His jacket was missing from it's usual place over the back of her desk chair, and his boots weren't neatly tucked up by the door. He had at least left her a note, albeit a quickly scribbled one on a piece of paper he'd torn out of a notebook.  _Had to go early, sorry. Call you later, D._

She wasn't entirely surprised by the swift exit. Generally if he stayed more than a few days he wouldn't exactly leave time for an actual goodbye. She did sometimes wonder what kind of a job a freelance mechanic had to drop everything and run off for, but for some reason she never actually asked him. The answer probably would have been just as vague as any other information he gave her about himself. In fact, the most detailed he'd been with her was the night before, when he'd talked about Sam. That was the first time she'd been able to actually pin him down to any specifics about his life. 

Cheyenne crumpled the note in one fist, sighing to herself as she got out of bed and wandered out into the kitchen, where Ana was already awake. "Morning."

"Morning. Dean left early, didn't he?"

She mumbled something in response that she hoped sounded like a yes as she rooted around in the fridge for a carton of milk. "Had a job." 

Ana was about to respond when her phone buzzed on the counter beside her. "I swear to God..."

Cheyenne raised an eyebrow, setting about making herself a cup of coffee. "Something the matter?"

"It's just Eloise." Ana rolled her eyes. "Texting me for the third time this morning to ask if I wanted to meet up and hang out."

"Aw," Cheyenne cooed, sipping her coffee. "Your bestie?"

"Don't even joke about that." Ana shot her a glare, putting her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. "Seriously, I swear she's more intense than she was in Freshman year. She  _always_  wants to meet up. I don't think she can take a hint." 

Eloise was a girl Ana had shared a few classes with during first year, who'd taken a serious liking to her. Unfortunately, their friendship was fairly one-sided. Ana had quickly decided that she wasn't a fan of the girl after Eloise had invited herself out with Ana, Jake and Cheyenne, and she'd been dodging her texts and calls for weeks. 

"Did she get over the disappointment of not living with you this year?" Cheyenne teased. "She forgiven you yet?"

"I shit you not." Ana finished her coffee. "That's actually how she phrased it." She steadied herself, giving Cheyenne a mock sniff for dramatic effect. "'Ana... I hope you know how upset I am you decided not to live with me, but... I can forgive you for it.' I mean, what the fuck, right? We already had a plan to move in together, why would I drop that to live with her?"

Cheyenne chuckled gently into her coffee. "I'm really quite honoured you chose me over your best friend in the whole wide world to live with. Seriously, I am."

"Yeah, yeah..." Ana sighed. "I'm pretty sure she just texted me again. My ass is vibrating." 

"Just tell her you don't want to hang out." Cheyenne shrugged. "She's a big girl, I'm sure she can handle it. Besides, we're studying with Jake, remember?"

Ana's face lit up as she pulled her phone out. "Excellent, now I have an excuse. Thanks." 

She smiled gently, shaking her head as she walked back into her room. At least Ana wasn't lying to her, that was something. On more than one occasion Eloise had asked Cheyenne if she was 'feeling better now', and after questioning Ana about it, she found out Ana had lied to the girl and told her she needed to take care of Cheyenne, which was why she couldn't hang out. 

Cheyenne closed the bedroom door behind her, looking around her empty room with a small sigh. Every time he left the apartment seemed just a little too quiet, if only for a few days. This morning was no different. Over the past two months, Dean had managed to leave little traces of his presence behind in the room - one morning it was an empty beer bottle perched on the edge of her bedside table; another time she found his tattered copy of  _Slaughterhouse-Five_ on the floor by the bed where he'd fallen asleep reading. Today she found his khaki shirt folded neatly on top of her dresser, next to the framed picture of her and her Grandma. She smiled gently, picking it up and giving it a quick sniff just to make sure - yep, it smelt just like him. Cheap soap, cheap cologne and engine grease. 

Putting the shirt back on the dresser, Cheyenne got dressed quickly, grabbing her phone just before she left her bedroom to go with Ana.  _Thanks for the shirt. Thinking of starting a shrine._

As they walked out of the apartment, her phone buzzed. She couldn't help by smile when she saw Dean's contact ID pop up.  _No problem. Does that mean I'm gonna get the deity treatment, worship and all?_


	6. Chapter 6

"What are you smiling at?"

Dean snapped his phone closed quickly without sending his text to Cheyenne, looking up as John threw himself into the seat opposite him. They were in a diner somewhere in Iowa while they researched a new job, and Dean was starting to get restless. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but the longer they spent on the road, the more tense he became. The only thing relieving any of his tension were the hurried texts to Cheyenne, or the quiet, stolen phone calls he made while John was busy or distracted. It had been nearly a month since he'd seen her, and he was hoping the job in Iowa would be dealt with quickly so he could sneak off for a few days. 

He wasn't sure why he didn't want to tell John about her, he just knew that he didn't. Maybe he was afraid of John's reaction, afraid he'd call her little more than a distraction. Maybe he wanted to keep her to himself, his own little source of light in an otherwise fairly dark and dismal life. In all likelihood, it was a little of both. He enjoyed their time together, enjoyed the fact that he didn't have to share that with anyone. Not like he had to share the rest of his life. 

"Nothing." He shrugged. "Any news on the case?"

"I couldn't get much out of the Deputy." John shook his head disparagingly. "This place is a joke, even by our standards. What did you get on the victims?" 

The change in Dean was so subtle that only a bystander who was looking at him particularly closely would have noticed it. His back straightened up, his hunched shoulders lowered a half inch, and when he spoke his voice was noticeably deeper. He cleared his throat before speaking. "I found out a little bit, but there's no connection yet."

"None?" John huffed, visibly disappointed. "I'd have expected something to come up by now."

For a few seconds Dean tensed, waiting for a snappy comment about how he should have worked harder or faster over the past few days, but when John said nothing he relaxed again, downing the last of his coffee. "I'll keep working on it. Should have something soon." 

"Okay." John nodded slowly. "Go wait in the car, I'll pay the bill and finish up here." 

"Yes sir." Dean said quickly, standing up and grabbing his jacket. As he walked out of the diner he heard the riff from Smoke on the Water coming from his back pocket, and pulled his phone out to see Cheyenne's caller ID. "Hey..."

"Hey stranger." He could hear her grin. "You been okay?"

"Ah, you know... The usual. Lot of take out food, lot of bad TV." He leaned against the Impala. "What are you up to? Any more big tests coming up?"

"No..." She was quiet for a few seconds. "It's been a pretty slow couple of weeks, to be honest."

 _Tell me about it_. Dean thought, closing his eyes. "Yeah, well hopefully we should be done by the end of the week. I might be able to make my way up to you for a couple of days, if you're free?"

"End of the week, huh?" Her voice was quiet, and she actually sounded disappointed. "Okay, that... That sounds good."

"Listen..." Dean felt guilty for hanging up on her so quickly. "I'm sorry, but now's not really a great time. My dad and I are about to head out and -"

"It's okay." She cut him off. "Don't worry about it, I'll talk to you later. I just..." There was a quiet sigh on the other end of the line. When she spoke again she was hesitant. "I missed you." 

Dean was taken aback. One had always jokingly teased the other about missing them, but neither had seriously acknowledged the growing difficulty in the periods between their time together. A weird sense of relief swept over him when he heard those words, and he smiled gently. "I missed you too. I'll call you later, okay? Promise." 

"You'd better, Winchester." She said with a light laugh, before the line went dead. Dean smiled to himself as he closed his phone with a  _snap_ , leaning heavily against the side of the Impala. 

"So it's a girl, hm?" He heard John's voice close behind him, startling him. Dean span around with a yelp like he'd been scalded, staring at his father. 

"The hell did you come from?!" Dean stared at him in shock for a second as John walked around to the drivers' side door and opened it. 

"I was only paying the bill." He reminded him. "So who's the girl?"

Dean stuffed his phone back into his pocket, giving a shrug he hoped was casual enough as he climbed into the Impala. "Just a girl."

"Is this who you've been sneaking away to see every couple of weeks?" John asked as he started the car. "You're not exactly a fantastic liar, Dean. Your excuses have always been pretty piss-poor." 

Dean stuttered for a few seconds, struggling to come up with a rebuttal or excuse as he felt his cheeks grow hot. "I uh... I..."

"I'll take that as a yes." John raised an eyebrow as he looked back at the road. "Just make sure she doesn't become a distraction, okay? We've still got an important job to do out here, and I don't want some girl making you forget about that, you hear me?"

"Yes sir." Dean said quietly, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched it shut. "I won't let that happen."

"You'd better not." John murmured darkly. 

 

* * *

 

 

Cheyenne woke to the sound of her phone ringing on her nightstand. She reached for it blindly, nearly knocking her alarm clock off the table in the process. "Hello?"

"Did I wake you up?"

She groaned, opening her eyes just enough to look at the time. It was nearly midnight, she couldn't have been asleep for long. "Dean? Is everything okay?"

"I mean uh..." He cleared his throat. "This job my dad and I are working... We're only in Dyersville, which is like... 120 miles from you."

"How long would that take to drive?" She yawned, laying back in bed. These late night phone calls were becoming more and more frequent, which wouldn't have been a problem apart from the fact that she tended to doze off if he called too late. 

"Turns out you can do it in about an hour and a half." 

Cheyenne's eyes shot open. "What do you mean 'turns out'? Are you here?" 

"Kind of why I called." Dean chuckled. "You want to let me in, or am I going to have to sleep in the car all night?"

Cheyenne threw the duvet off, crawling out of bed and practically running through the apartment to get to the front door. "I'll let you in, where are y-"

She unlocked the front door and pulled it open to come face to face with a grinning Dean, who hung up his phone when he saw her. "Hey, Cheyenne."

"Dean..." She threw her arms around his neck as she launched herself at him, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble backwards a few steps. Seeing him felt like flood of relief after three weeks alone; it was like she'd realised all of a sudden just how much she'd missed him. "It's so good to see you..."

His hands settled on her lower back for a brief moment before his arms wound around her waist, pulling her against him. His forehead rested gently on her shoulder and then nuzzled into her neck as he sank into the embrace. "It's good to see you too..." 

"The job..." She pulled back a little, looking up at him in surprise. "I thought you said you had a week left?" 

"I probably do." He admitted, sighing. "But I figured I could make it here now, spend the night and then drive back early tomorrow morning. How's that sound?"

"That sounds good..." She looked up at him with that bright smile, her eyes twinkling in the dim lighting of the hallway. "Come on, let's get back inside."

She took his hand, leading him back into her bedroom, and it was only then, while Dean peeled off his leather jacket and tossed it over the back of her chair, that he realised what she'd worn to bed. The khaki shirt he'd 'forgotten' the last time he'd been over. "Is that my shirt?"

"It's comfy." She pointed out as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. Honestly, that wasn't the only reason she'd taken to wearing it to bed. With him gone, it had been comforting to sleep in, to be able to smell something that reminded her of him. Every time she wore it though, she had to push away the voice in the back of her head that told her  _this wasn't how casual fuck-buddies acted_. This was, in fact, how a girlfriend acted. And she wasn't his girlfriend. If she added up all the time they'd spent together it came to only a few weeks, which was nothing. 

"It looks good on you." Dean said quietly, hooking his index finger into the placket of the shirt and using it to pull her towards him. She walked forwards until she was stood in between his legs and he could wrap his arms around her waist again. "You should keep it." 

"I think I might." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper as she let her fingers sink into his soft hair. Dean smiled gently, leaning into her touch as his eyes slipped closed. "You look tired."

"Feel tired." He admitted, eyelashes fluttering as he opened his eyes to look up at her. A line appeared between her brows as she combed her fingers through his hair slowly, dragging her fingertips close to the roots. 

"Maybe you should have used that hour and a half to catch up on sleep instead." She said, half-joking. He chuckled, tugging on the front of the shirt to pull her down to his level so he could kiss her gently. 

"Is that really what you think?" He asked, his lips grazing hers. 

"It's really, really not." Cheyenne assured him, her nose bumping against his gently as she kissed him back.

 

* * *

 

 

John didn't say anything when Dean walked back into the motel room the next morning, but he was sure his father knew where he'd been. He didn't care, wouldn't have cared if John had screamed at him until he was hoarse. Seeing her would have been worth it.   
  
They worked in near silence for the rest of the day, only pausing once every few hours to share a few facts they'd gathered. This was generally how they worked during the research stage - John would alternate between hunching over his tattered journal and tacking newspaper clippings to a notice board while Dean pored over lore and history books. It was the part of the job that started to drive Dean insane if he had to do it for long enough, and his father knew it. Dean had always been the muscle, always willing to run in head first to tackle a shifter or a demon or a spirit, while Sam had always been the one spending hours huddled in the corner with a book. On every case they'd worked together without the youngest Winchester, Dean was hyper-aware of his shortcomings in the research department. He struggled to concentrate for hours on end, hated being cooped up in the room with nothing to do. John didn't have to say it, but Dean knew his father was disappointed with his lack of diligence when it came to studying.   
  
Even at the end of the case, after the bones had been salted and burned and a young family saved from a slow and unpleasant death, John seemed tense. Normally this was where he eased up a little, cracked open a bear with his son, maybe even made a joke or two. That night, however, as they drove back to the motel John was silent, unblinking eyes trained on the road ahead. Dean considered breaking the silence, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out, and he closed it again promptly, instead staring out of the passenger side window, his thumb ghosting over the edges of the cell phone in his jacket pocket.   
  
In the motel room John set about taking down the notes they'd gathered and cleaning their room with military efficiency. He started by taking down the newspaper clippings, the notes he'd made on the victims and any possible leads as far as spirits were concerned. When everything was packed up, he began cleaning the room, making sure to wipe down their finger prints in case any of the police in the area actually bothered to double check their badge numbers and became suspicious. While he cleared up Dean took the opportunity to slip out of the motel room and call Cheyenne, pacing small circles outside the door as the phone rang.  
  
"Dean! Hey!"   
  
He could hear voices and music on the other end of the line, someone calling her name distantly. "Hey. Bad time?"  
  
"No, not at all." She assured him. He could hear movement, and then the voices and music faded out. "Are you okay? Is the job done?"  
  
"We're finished here, yeah..." He kicked a stone across the parking lot. "I could be at yours by ten, maybe ten thirty. If it's a bad time I can just -"  
  
"No." She said quickly. "It's not a bad time, really. I'm just at a bar with some friends."  
  
"Yeah?" Dean grinned, his mind wandering back to the red dress she'd worn when they'd gone to the bar together. "What are you wearing?"  
  
"Well why don't you drive up here and find out?" She teased. He could almost picture her biting her lip to try and hold back a grin, and couldn't help but chuckle.   
  
"You don't have to tell me twice, sweetheart." He assured her. "Your friends won't mind me stealing you for the night?"   
  
She hesitated. "They're actually all really... interested in meeting you."  
  
"They are?" Dean paused, automatically suspicious. "Why?"  
  
He could hear her laughter. "Because they're my friends, Dean. They want to grill you a little. But don't worry, I've already told them they won't be able to get much out of you."  
  
Dean chuckled quietly, hearing the motel door open behind him. "I've got to finish packing, I'll see you later okay? Don't do anything I wouldn't do."  
  
Cheyenne snorted. "That's a pretty low bar, Dean."

He smiled gently as he heard the motel door open behind him. "I've got to go. I'll see you soon, Chey."

"See you in a couple of hours, Dean." The line went dead, and he couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket, turning to greet his father as he heard his footsteps. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"What are we drinking to?" Jake asked, carrying the tray of drinks over to the table with a surprising amount of skill for someone as drunk as he was. He managed to grab his bottle of beer from the tray before three other hands reached in to take their own drinks.

"Surviving another week, against all odds?" George joked, wrapping his free arm around Ana's waist and pulling her against his side. Cheyenne had to admit, George was growing on her. Unlike most of Ana's other boyfriends, he wasn't a complete tool. He was also incredibly generous when it came to buying rounds at the bar. She leaned in, tapping her glass against his with a gentle  _clink_.

"I can drink to that." She smiled gently. 

"And here's to only two weeks until the break." Jake grinned, swinging his own bottle in to toast. "Man, I cannot  _wait_  to see my folks."

Ana's eyes met Cheyenne's from over the top of their glasses, and for a split second her expression changed. It was so subtle neither of the men noticed, but Ana had seen it enough times to pick up on it. The breath hitched in her chest for a moment; a muscle jumped in her jaw; her knuckles whitened as she gripped the table. Then, as quickly as she'd tensed, she had relaxed again, and as she set her glass back down she managed to shoot Jake a curt nod of agreement. 

"Seriously, you guys have got to come visit me in Maine at some point." Jake's bottle came down on the table a little harder than was necessary. 

Ana snorted, shaking her head. "Yeah, no. I can't wait to get back to sunny Austin. I'm sick of the north." 

"Plus Maine is the birthplace of... Nothing." George joked. "What exactly do you do there, anyway?"

Jake's mouth opened in indignant protest for a second, but he came up blank and floundered for a second as he tried to come up with something. Finally, he mumbled something about the National Parks into his beer, taking a swig. Even in the dim lighting Cheyenne could see his pale cheeks flush red, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. 

"Don't worry, Jake." She assured him, smiling as she felt her cell phone buzz in her purse. "I'll come visit you."

She excused herself, walking a few feet away from the table with her drink in hand. She didn't even need to look at the caller ID to know where he was. "Hey..."

"Hey." She could hear his smile on the other end of the line as she stepped outside. 

"What'cha up to, Winchester?" She smiled, sipping her drink. 

"You know, I was kind of hoping to see that red dress again."

Cheyenne paused, her eyes narrowing as she scanned her immediate surroundings. Although there were a few people around her smoking, she couldn't see Dean's leather jacket among them. "Dean, where are you?" 

"You look like you're waiting for someone." His tone was playful, light. He clearly had no intention of coming out of whatever dark corner he was skulking in. "You can't tell me a woman that looks like  _you_  got stood up, can you?"

"Well I don't know." She finished her drink. "I'm waiting for this total jackass to come sweep me off my feet, but I can't see him anywhere. You want to take his place?"

"You don't think he'll mind?" This time she heard his voice twice, once through the phone and once surprisingly close behind her. She turned on the spot to come face to face with him, and hung up, biting her lip. He looked good. His hair was a mess (she wasn't actually sure he owned a comb), his t-shirt creased and his face unshaven, but  _damn_  if he didn't look fantastic. Cheyenne swallowed hard as he stepped closer, until he was so close she had to tilt her head to look up at him. 

"His loss, right?" She teased. She was hyper aware of the fact that her friends knew she'd stepped out to talk to him, that they were probably watching her through the window in the bar right now, and that when she walked back in she was going to get an  _earful_  from Ana. The thought of even being watched as they kissed made her cheeks hot - public affection had never been her favourite aspect of a relationship before. 

"My win." Dean's voice was low, his the green of his iris only a thin sliver as he looked down at her. Seriously, how was it  _legal_  to look at someone like that? She knew it was less than a week since they'd seen each other, but if it hadn't been for the fact they were in such a public place she would have ripped his clothes off then and there. One of his hands trailed lightly up the side of her thigh, fingertips barely grazing her skin while his other hand pulled her flush against his chest so she could breath in the smell of motel soap and beer. 

Suddenly, she didn't care about her friends watching from the windows, didn't care about passersby on the street. Both his arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her against him as he leaned down to kiss her, lips barely ghosting over hers at first. Then his nose bumped hers, three-day stubble scraped her cheek and finally he kissed her properly, one hand sliding up her back with agonising slowness. Her fingers sank into his impossibly soft hair as her free arm wound around his neck until they were tangled up in each other, so close their heat radiated off one another. 

He pulled back too soon for her liking, his breathing heavier and lips parted just a little. "That's a hell of a hello, sweetheart." 

"Tell me about it." Her voice came out more strained than she'd meant it to, and she heard him chuckle lightly. 

"So, how about I meet those friends of yours? I'm assuming they're the ones staring at us through the window?" 

Cheyenne followed his gaze, and sure enough Ana and Jake were wide-eyed inside the bar, noses practically pressed to the glass. "That would be them, yeah."


	7. Chapter 7

They stayed for a few rounds after that - Dean insisted. As much as Cheyenne had been dreading the 'big introduction' her friends managed to remain fairly civilised, keeping the embarrassing questions and even more embarrassing stories to a minimum. Eventually, after half an hour of Cheyenne's hand sliding up the inside of his thigh under the table Dean took the hint and decided to call it a night. "I hope you guys don't mind, but uh... I'm going to take Chey for the night." 

He noticed she was more forward than normal as soon as they were in the elevator of her apartment. Her arms wrapped around his middle under his t-shirt, and she nuzzled into his neck lovingly, a coy smile toying at her lips as she placed kisses on his chest, just above his heart. Dean wondered vaguely how she was managing to walk so gracefully in the towering heels she'd chosen for the night as she led him down the hallway and into her apartment, her fingers knotted into his as she dragged him along insistently. 

"God you're perfect..." He groaned, kicking the apartment door closed behind them and pulling her into his arms. She fell against his chest with a giggle, arms wrapping around his neck lazily. 

"Thank you." She giggled, pressing her lips to his. Dean's grip on her tightened as he turned them slowly, until her back was pressed up against the front door. Slowly, he pulled back, nose bumping against hers. 

"How much did you have to drink before I got there?" He asked quietly, pulling back a little more so he could look down at her. She blinked up at him once in surprise, before smiling gently. 

"Enough. Not too much." She assured him, hands trailing down his chest slowly. "Look at you, being all responsible." 

He chuckled, pushing her coat off her shoulders slowly so that it fell and pooled around her ankles. "Does it suit me?"

"I think you'd be hard pressed to find something that doesn't suit you." She pointed out. Dean smiled gently, pressing his lips against hers again, softly this time. 

"Bedroom?" He whispered, nipping at her earlobe gently. His scruff grazed against her cheek, and for longer than she cared to admit, Cheyenne wondered how it would feel against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs while he looked up at her with those impossibly green eyes. "Chey?"

His voice brought her out of her thoughts, and she looked up at him with a grin. "Bedroom." She whispered, nodding slowly. Her fingers played with the lapel of his leather jacket for a few seconds before she slid it off his shoulders and down his arms, until it joined her coat on the floor. "Now."

"Yes ma'am." The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile as he grabbed the back of her thighs with one hand, the other supporting her back as he carried her bridal-style into her bedroom. 

He laid her down more gently than she'd expected, hands sliding down her waist slowly as he looked at her through hooded eyes. Her room was only lit by the pale glow of the moon outside, so his face was cast in deep shadow as he leaned over her to kiss her, eyelashes tickling her cheek as he closed his eyes. Cheyenne gripped onto his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, make him move faster, but Dean was stronger than she was and simply chuckled. 

"Be patient." He soothed, his lips at her neck again. "We've got all night, remember?"

"Dean..." She said quietly, hips tipping up to meet his. He chuckled again, kneeling up on the bed to take off his shirt, which ended up somewhere in the corner of her room. 

"You really aren't in the playing mood, are you?" He leaned back down, propping himself up on one arm as the other hand rested on her side. 

"I had to wait three weeks to even get you here for one night." Her hand trailed down his chest to his stomach, fingertips cool against his warm skin. Finally, they came to stop on his belt buckle. 

"Then I'm sure you can wait another ten minutes." He winked, grabbing her wrist and moving her hand back up so her fingers tangled into his hair again. "I want to take my time tonight."

For a second, he thought she was just going to roll him onto his back and take control - not that he would have complained about that - but instead she nodded slowly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Okay."

For the first time - possibly the first time ever - he did take his time. He peppered her neck and chest with soft, barely-there kisses and smiled as he felt her skin grow hot under his touch. He made his way down her body slowly, kissing her over her dress until he could hear her practically whining his name, and  _then_  he instructed her to stand up so he could take her dress off. He stood behind her as they faced the mirror so he could her, hands ghosting over the curves of her body until he reached the zipper. One slow, fluid motion down, the sound of the zipper cutting through the silence between them, and then her dress was sliding off her shoulders. 

Dean placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder, keeping eye contact with her in the mirror. "Bed." He said quietly, nuzzling her. 

While she moved back to lay down on the bed again, Dean turned the CD player on. After a few seconds, the now familiar sound of a saxophone filled the room, closely followed by Otis Redding's crooning. He heard her giggle from the bed, and turned back to grin at her. "A little ambiance?" 

"C'mere." She beckoned him closer, kicking off her heels as he approached. "You can't just put Otis on and leave me here on my own." 

With a laugh, Dean walked over to join her, kicking off his jeans before he knelt on the bed and sank down to kiss her properly, his tongue grazing hers as he cupped the back of her head gently. 

 

* * *

 

 

He woke up in her bed the next morning alone. Looking around for her for a few seconds, he rubbed sleep from his eyes and sat up properly. "Chey?"

When he couldn't hear a response, Dean sat up and swung his legs out of bed, gathering his clothes up quickly. As he got dressed he paused, lifting his head up a little. He could hear music coming from the kitchen. Was that Boston?

When he'd put on his jeans, (he couldn't find his shirt, and had his suspicions that he would find Cheyenne wearing it), Dean poked his head out of the bedroom door and peered out across the living room into the kitchen. Sure enough, Cheyenne was playing Boston loudly, dancing around the kitchen to it as she mixed something in a bowl. As he walked across the living room and into the kitchen, Dean could have sworn he heard her singing quietly to it. "Morning."

She span around so quickly he was amazed the bowl didn't fly out of her hands. "Dean! Jesus, you scared me!"

He laughed, folding his arms over his bare chest. "Nice t-shirt." 

"Thank you." She grinned, giving him a little spin so the thin material fluttered around the the tops of her legs, flashing a little of her underwear. "Do all of your clothes smell like engine grease?"

"I spend a lot of time with cars." He reminded her, placing a chaste kiss on her lips as he walked past to grab a mug. "What are you making?"

"Waffles." She grinned, checking the consistency of the batter in her bowl. "After last night I kind of need something to get my strength back, y'know?" 

Dean chuckled, his back to her as he started making coffee. "I didn't hear you complaining." 

Cheyenne set the bowl down on the counter, smirking as she wrapped his arms around his middle from behind and perched on the tips of her toes. "Don't think I had the energy by the end of it."

Dean felt her lips on his back, just between his shoulder blades, and turned around to face her properly. She was smiling up at him, thick glasses magnifying her eyes a little as she blinked. "This is a helluva lot nicer than motel, I've got to say." 

"I don't think most motels come with waffle irons, for one thing." She pointed out with a grin. 

"And the maid service isn't nearly as... hospitable." He teased, leaning down to kiss her gently. Almost on instinct, his arms wound around her waist, tugging her against his chest. Her hands were in his already messy hair, fingertips curling around the ends to tug on it gently. Dean took a step forward, and then another, and another until he'd backed her up against the counter, which he lifted her onto in an instant. All of a sudden he'd forgotten about the waffles, or his half-made coffee. "I might take that shirt back now."

She was about to answer when the front door opened, making them both jump. Ana paused in the doorway, staring at them both with a shit-eating grin on her face. "Seriously, you two."

"Hey Ana." Dean chuckled, his hands sliding from Cheyenne's thighs and falling to his sides. "We were just -"

"Oh I know what you were doing." She said knowingly. "Save it for the bedroom, kids. People eat in here. Ooh, speaking of eating, are you making waffles?"

"I  _was_." Cheyenne said pointedly, nudging Dean's shoulder gently. He chuckled, winking at her as Ana hung her coat up. 

"Great, well when Dean puts some clothes on make sure you make me some. I'm  _starving_."

With that, she wandered into her bedroom, the door closing behind her with a gentle  _click_. For a few seconds, Cheyenne and Dean stared at the door, before looking back at each other in unison. His eyebrow cocked, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You know, if we're quiet... I don't think she'd even notice -"

" _No_!" She laughed, pushing his shoulders so he stumbled back a step. "Jesus Christ, you're like a rabbit." 

"Well it sounds like you really  _are_ going to have to give me that shirt back though." He told her with a smirk, turning back to finish making his coffee. After a few seconds, something hit the back of his head, wrapping around to half-cover his face. He realised it was his shirt, and by the time he'd pulled it down and dropped it on the counter Cheyenne was already out of the kitchen and halfway through the living room, laughing to herself as she disappeared into her bedroom. Dean smiled to himself, pulling the shirt over his head as he felt the buzz in his pocket alerting him to a text. When he flipped his phone open, he saw a text from his dad. 

Coordinates, to his next job, with an instruction to meet John there in two days.

 

* * *

 

 

"You know, it's weird..." Cheyenne's voice was a soft murmur in the silence of her room as she looked at their interlocked fingers. 

"What is?" Dean mumbled into her hair, opening his eyes a crack. 

"Normally when I meet a cute guy I get all tense. I can barely even get out a coherent sentence, I go all red... I get all sweaty and nervous. But that never happened with you." She said quietly, running her thumb over a particularly prominent scar on Dean's finger. "Talking to you isn't difficult, it never has been."

"Wait, you don't find me cute?" He teased. She rolled her eyes, nudging him with her shoulder gently. 

"I'm baring my soul about my problems with talking to guys and that's what you got out of that?"

He chuckled, draping his other arm over her as he kissed her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"But seriously." She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. One hand rested gently on his chest, just above his stomach. "Even that first day in the library..."

"The night you got caught checking me out?" That earned him a gentle slap on the chest and an eye roll, and he chuckled. "The morning we got kicked out for talking?"

"Yeah." She smiled gently. "Even that was easy. It just kind of felt right, y'know?"

Dean could feel his heart quicken in his chest, just a little. He  _did_  know what she meant - not that he'd admit that to her, or even really acknowledge it himself. Talking to her had been easy from the start, just like she said. When he'd sat down at the table that first morning, it had almost been like they'd known each other for months, like he was drinking with an old friend. Then, every time he showed up at her apartment after a hunt it felt like the closest he'd ever gotten to coming home. 

"I know what you mean." He whispered, kissing her forehead gently. "Trust me." 

"Tell me you don't have to leave tonight..." She said quietly, raising her head a little to look up at him. Her eyes were so wide in the half-light of the sunrise, with just a hint of hopefulness. She was making it seriously difficult to leave. Eventually, he sighed, a muscle jumping in his jaw, before giving a slow now. 

"Probably around midnight, if I want to get there before tomorrow night..."

She couldn't hide the disappointment, slowly lowering her head to rest on his chest. "M'kay." She said quietly, tracing small figure-of-eights on his stomach with her index finger. Dean closed his eyes, relaxing into her touch just as he always did. 

"I'm sorry..." He said quietly, stroking her hair back from her forehead. "I wish I could stay, I do. But -"

"It's okay." She assured him, pressing her lips to his stomach in a gentle kiss. "I understand, I do."

Dean closed his eyes as she went back to tracing shapes on his skin. He could feel himself drifting off already - his eyelids were growing heavy, his breathing was steadying out and slowly, his head rolled to one side. 

The knocking woke him up. Someone was at the front door. 

Cheyenne lifted her head with a groan. "Who the hell...?"

"You want me to get it?" Dean offered, but she was already on her feet and grabbing a shirt to cover herself. She shook her head, waving him away with her hand as she held back a yawn. 

"Nah, it's okay." She mumbled, stumbling out of the bedroom and into the apartment. Dean heard her open the door, greet whoever was on the other side, and then just as his eyes were about to drift closed again, he realised he recognised the other voice. 

It was his dad. 

Dean shot out of bed, barely even getting his jeans on before he was walking across the apartment to the front door. He came to stop just behind Cheyenne, staring up at his father in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"Dean?" Cheyenne turned to him in surprise, before looking between the two men. "You... Know each other? You're here to see Dean?"

"Actually, I'm here to see both of you." John grunted, pushing the door open a little further to walk inside the apartment without invitation. Cheyenne took a small step back to accommodate him, backing up into Dean. "I'm assuming you're Cheyenne?"

"Yes...?" She said hesitantly, looking back up at Dean uncertainly. "I'm sorry, who -"

"I'm John." He said bluntly, leaning back against the opposite counter and looking at them. "Dean's father."

"Oh!" In an instant Cheyenne's demeanour changed, and she shot John a smile. When he didn't return it her cheerful grin faltered, and she looked back at Dean, at a loss for words. "Well I'm... I'll put something else on. I'll be back in a minute." 

Dean followed her into the bedroom, making an excuse about finding his shirt to John, who barely even seemed to register or acknowledge what he'd said. When he closed the door behind him Cheyenne turned to him, an eyebrow cocked. "What... is he doing here?"

"Trust me, I've got no idea..." Dean said quietly, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling it over his head.

"I mean, maybe it's a good thing?" She suggested. "Maybe... He's here to... Give us his blessing or something?"

Dean gave a mirthless chuckle. "Not really his style. Something's up." 

Cheyenne was about to respond when there was a soft knock at the bedroom door. He opened it a crack to see John on the other side. "You decent?"

Dean opened the door a little wider to let him in. "What's going on? I thought we were supposed to meet in Delaware tomorrow." 

"Change of plans. An old buddy of mine told me about a job he was working on right here in Madison. Figured since you were here we could get it done quickly, then head to Delaware together when it was finished." His eyes flickered to Cheyenne. "But we need her help." 

"M-me?" Cheyenne said quietly, looking between them. "I... don't know anything about cars. I can barely change a tyre."

John's eyes narrowed just a little as he looked back at Dean. "You... Told her you were a mechanic?"

Even from across the dimly lit room, Cheyenne could see the muscle jumping in Dean's jaw as he looked at his father. "No." He said quietly. "We're not doing this. I know what you're thinking, and -"

"It's the fastest way to get it done, Dean." John cut across him. "We need to draw it out into the open before we can deal with it, and it's not like it'll go after you or me -"

"I said no." Dean said sharply, in a tone that Cheyenne had never heard him use before. It was almost scary it was so cold, so unlike his normal voice. "And I meant it. We aren't using her as  _bait_ , Dad."

As she watched them argue, Cheyenne started to feel sick. A knot twisted uncomfortably in her stomach, her breathing sped up a little, and her palms grew clammy.  Everything about John screamed  _danger_  to her, from his dark, unkempt hair to the smell of stale alcohol that rolled off him in waves. He was the kind of guy she would ordinarily cross the street to avoid after sunset, and now she was stood in her bedroom. And he was getting angry. 

So was Dean, she could see it in every fibre of his body. His nostrils flared, his jaw tightened, and she could see his fists balling at his sides. "You can't just come here and ask her to put herself in danger like that!"

"Dean, what's going on?" She asked quietly, swallowing past the ball of nerves that had formed in her throat. 

They looked back at her, almost surprised for a second as if they'd forgotten she was stood there in front of him. John opened his mouth - presumably to answer her, but Dean cut him off with a sharp  _no_  and shake of his head. He looked back at her awkwardly, like a child who'd been caught in a lie. "Chey, it's nothing. It's -"

"She deserves to know the truth, son." John's voice was softer than it had been before. In fact, almost everything about him had softened just a little. His shoulders had slackened, his eyes seemed to warm slightly. "If you care about her, you need to tell her everything."

"Tell me everything about what?" Cheyenne echoed, looking from John to Dean, who was hanging his head a little to avoid eye contact. "Dean?"

He inhaled slowly through his nose, finally raising his head and rubbing a hand across his face. For a few moments he looked older, more tired than he had done. Eventually, he made eye contact with her, opened his mouth to speak. "You should probably sit down for this."


	8. Chapter 8

"Cheyenne?" Dean whispered, touching her knee gently. When she flinched he pulled his hand away, letting it fall back to his side. She hadn't spoken in a long time, not since he and John had told her everything, including the most recent case they'd found in Wisconsin. Instead she just stared into middle distance, unblinking. "Say something..."

Finally, she opened her mouth a little, swallowing hard as she tried to come up with the right words. "I'd like a drink, please."

Dean sighed, glancing back at John, who hadn't moved from his place by the door. "There's a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard under the sink."

As his father left the room Dean looked back at Cheyenne, who was still avoiding his gaze. "Say something. Please."

She didn't respond, didn't even move until a glass of whiskey had been pushed into her hand by John. After a few small sips in silence, her eyes finally rose to meet Dean's. He couldn't place her expression, but he could take a guess at how she was feeling. Confused, angry. Maybe even betrayed that he'd lied to her all this time. "You... hunt Ghosts?"

"Ghosts... Demons, monsters..." Dean said quietly, feeling safe enough to put his hand back on her knee. She didn't shrug it off this time, so he gave it a gentle squeeze, frowning. "Things you wouldn't even see in your worst nightmare."

"This is insane." She said quietly, tipping the rest of the glass back before holding it out for John to refill. He did so, and she clasped the glass in both hands tightly, almost like she was clinging to a security blanket. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Do we look like we're joking?" John asked. She looked up at him slowly, eyes narrowing a little as she tried to judge his expression. 

"No." She admitted finally, sighing. "You really don't."

"You haven't called us crazy yet." John pointed out, finally getting a little closer to them. He moved from the door to lean on the dresser, arms still folded across his chest. "That mean you believe us?"

"Can you prove it?" She asked, her voice wavering a little. Judging by her nervous expression, Dean wasn't totally sure that she  _wanted_  them to prove it. Even so, there was a challenging edge to her voice which John seemed to appreciate. For the first time since he'd stepped into the apartment the corner of his lips twitched into what could have turned into a smile if it had gone unchecked. 

"I've got an arsenal of weapons in the trunk of my car. Dean's too. If you want, we could walk downstairs right now and show you." He offered. Dean shot him a disapproving glare, which he pointedly ignored.

"That could prove that you're serial killers." She countered, finishing her second drink and standing to put the empty glass on the dresser. "Not ghost hunters."

"You could help us with this hunt." There was no hint of humour in John's face now. If anything, he was just returning the challenge, waiting patiently for her response, which made Dean inexplicably nervous. Knowing her, she was about to say - 

"Okay." She said quietly, looking between the two men. "What would I have to do?"

"Cheyenne." Dean wasn't sure when he'd jumped to his feet, but suddenly he was face to face with her. "No. Come on, you can't do this."

"You're telling me that this... Spirit? Is killing people. It's going to kill more people, right?" She said, suddenly oddly calm. Dean half wondered if this was the result of the whiskey.

"Yeah, but-" He began, but she cut him off. 

"And you're telling me the two of you can stop it. All you need me to do is distract it long enough for you to kill it? That's it?"

" _Cheyenne_." His voice came out as a low growl. "You're not listening to me. This is dangerous. This thing could kill you. You can't just wander around out there alone and -"

"She won't be alone." John said calmly. "I'll be with her, make sure she doesn't get into serious trouble while you salt and burn the bones."

"Why can't  _you_  burn them?" Dean almost surprised himself with how argumentative he was being, which was nothing compared to how much he was surprising John. He'd always expected this sort of rebellious stubborn argument from his younger son, but he'd always been able to depend on Dean to follow orders. For the most part. 

"Because I told you that you're the one burning them. Is there a problem with that?"

The atmosphere in the room changed in an instant. Somehow that one phrase changed everything about Dean, from his posture to his voice, and Cheyenne watched as he practically shrank. His fists relaxed at his sides, his shoulders slumped a little, and when he spoke, his voice had lost that gruff edge. "No sir."

"Good. So it's settled then." John looked between the two of them. "Tonight, you go to the cemetery and dig up Joseph McGinley's bones, salt and burn them. Cheyenne poses as bait a few miles away to draw him out and I stay within running distance in case she gets into trouble.  _Any questions_?"

Judging by the tone of the older man's voice, Cheyenne assumed that last part had been more rhetorical than genuine, and shook her head silently. When Dean said nothing, John murmured something about calling later before turning and walking out of the bedroom. The pair stood in awkward silence as they heard his footsteps through the apartment, and then heard the apartment door close behind him. 

Dean turned away from her, running a hand over his face silently. She couldn't tell whether he was composing himself after the argument with his father or trying to calm himself down enough not to yell at her. Eventually he spoke, his voice shaking slightly. "What the hell are you thinking?"

She wasn't honestly certain of what to tell him. She wasn't sure what she'd been thinking when she had agreed to act as bait, only that she wasn't sure she'd reacted with the rational part of her brain. "I -"

"I tell you ghosts and demons and monsters are real..." Dean began, finally turning to look at her, stony-faced. "And your first instinct is to  _join me_? Are you insane?"

"I don't think so." She said quietly, although a that moment she wasn't entirely sure.

"You're supposed to yell at me, tell me I'm crazy." He stared at her, eyes still a little wider than normal from shock. "You're supposed to throw me out of your apartment and call the cops. You're not supposed to... You're just gonna throw your hands up and say 'yep, this checks out'? You're just gonna get on board with everything I told you?"

"Are you mad because I... Believed you?" She asked, uncertain. He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I'm not... I'm not mad at you." He managed to assure her. "I just... I don't get you, Cheyenne. Why the hell would you just... Get on board with everything I told you about my life? Why would you just accept that? I hunt  _monsters_ , that's my life. You understand that, right?"

She faltered for a few seconds, trying to think of a half-decent response, finally landing on a weak 'Yes?'. Dean sighed, running both hands through his hair as he sank down onto the bed and looked up at her, caught somewhere between disbelief, despair and amusement. 

"This is a dangerous job. It's life or death, and if something happens to you out there -" He broke off, sighing. This was the exact sort of conversation he'd managed to avoid having for most of his life up until now. He'd never had to admit his feelings to someone, admit how much he cared about them and how much it would kill him to see them hurt. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

She took a few steps forward slowly, closing the gap between them until she was stood between his legs. With two fingers under his chin, she tilted his head up so he was looking at her, a frown etched into his delicate features. "I'm not going to pretend that this isn't freaking the hell out of me." She began quietly, her fingers sliding into his hair. "But I can do this. All I have to do is run if he shows up. And your dad is going to be there the whole time, right?"

"Right." Dean said quietly, still not entirely sold on the idea. "I'm not sending you out there unprepared though."

His hands slid around to rest on the backs of her thighs gently, squeezing them with just enough pressure to let her know he was holding onto her. Cheyenne couldn't help but smile - she'd never seen him like this before, and the concern was touching. "How are you gonna prepare me?"

"Well, I'm going to make sure you know how to kick his ass if he gets too close to you." Dean murmured. "Get dressed, I know a place I can take you through everything."


	9. Chapter 9

"Go over it one more time."

Cheyenne looked across the car to John, who was sat in the driver's seat of his car. "We've been over it like a billion times."

"Go over it again." He said forcefully, shooting her a glare. Cheyenne sighed.

"I stand out on the corner between Westin and Keswick." She started, her voice monotonous as she listed off the instructions that Dean and John had drilled into her over and over again. "I wait until McGinley shows up -"

"And how are you going to know it's McGinley?" John cut in.

"He's wearing early 1900's clothes." She continued with her list. "When he shows up, I tell you so you can tell Dean it's safe to go after the bones in the crypt. I keep him distracted by heading north to meet you. If I get into trouble, I scream." Cheyenne looked back over to him, checking his facial expression to judge whether or not she'd gotten it correct. "Right?"

"What about the iron?" John motioned to the iron poker Dean had pressed into her hands a half hour earlier. "What does it do?"

"Repels ghosts." She rounded off emotionlessly, still not entirely certain she believed what she was saying. "It'll give me some breathing room if he gets too close."

"Good." John settled back in his seat, setting up the cell phone for her and plugging in the headphones before passing it over to her. "Use this to talk to me. You get nervous, tell me. You think you see something out of the corner of your eye, say so. You even get a bad feeling standing out there alone, you holler, and I'll be there in a minute."

The intensity of his gaze was almost scary, and Cheyenne took the phone with shaky hands. "Okay."

"Scared?"

"No." She lied immediately. It wasn't particularly convincing. She still had no idea what was going to happen when she stepped out of the car, whether an actual ghost was going to attack her because she was 'his type', or whether someone was just going to run across the street with a video camera and tell her she was being Punk'd.

"You lying to me?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe a little." She whispered, looking down at her lap. She was having a tough time holding eye contact. Eventually, John settled back in his seat, looking out at the road ahead.

"I get why Dean likes you." He said eventually. "But this life, what we do? It's just not... compatible with a relationship. Sooner or later, one of you is going to realise that."

"We've made it this far." That earned her a sharp bark of laughter.

"Sweetheart, you're what... twenty years old? I know a few months must seem like a lifetime right now..." He looked over at her. "But it really isn't. Something's gonna have to give, one way or the other. And between you and me, if it's a choice between this job and you? Dean's going to choose hunting every time. I've watched it happen."

"Why?"

"Why?" He echoed, shaking his head slowly. "Because this is his life. It's all he knows. This is an important job, protecting people."

"You think he's going to walk away from me because he can't handle having two important things in his life?" She asked quietly.

"I think he's going to walk away from you because you don't get to be a Hunter and be happy. The two are mutually exclusive, always have been." John looked back at her, and Cheyenne realised his expression had changed. He almost looked... sad. "We come with short expiration dates."

Cheyenne was about to respond when John got a text message, interrupting them. "It's from Dean, he's at the cemetery. Showtime, sweetheart."

"Okay." She tried to sound confident, relaxed even, but her voice came out as barely more than a whisper as she put the earphones in and stepped out of the car. It was past midnight, and in the quiet residential area the streetlights were already out, meaning that apart from John's headlights the only lighting she had available was from the few people who were still awake, and whatever pale illumination the moon gave. With tiny, hesitant footsteps, Cheyenne walked away from the car.

"How are you doing?" John asked over the phone. Her grip on the iron bar tightened as she crossed the street to the corner of sidewalk cast in deep shadow. "Don't want to turn back yet?"

"You're not making this more fun, you know." She said quietly, coming to a stop on the corner. John's headlights were now out of sight, and she was in almost complete darkness. Cheyenne couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at how exposed she was, glancing over her shoulder a few times to check nothing was sneaking up on her. "What now?"

"Now we wait for McGinley," John said calmly. "It shouldn't take long."

"So this is what you do?" She said quietly. "Every time Dean leaves, this is what he's leaving to do?"

"Generally, yeah."

"Is this what they did when they were kids? The boys?" She asked hesitantly. For a few seconds John said nothing, and she was worried she'd overstepped her boundaries. Eventually, he spoke.

"I travelled a lot, working these jobs. When they got old enough they started to help me, yeah."

"Why?" She frowned.

Over the line, she heard John give a heavy sigh. "Let's just say no-one gets into Hunting because they've had a good life."

Cheyenne shivered, pulling her coat around herself a little tighter. All of a sudden it felt like the temperature had dropped ten degrees. "Fuck it's cold out here..."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and when John spoke, he sounded guarded, tense. "It's 65 degrees. Shouldn't be cold."

"Well, it is..." Cheyenne murmured, hopping from foot to foot as the breath began to cloud in front of her face. "Jesus, I know we're in Wisconsin, but seriously?"

"You see anything around you? Anyone?" John asked. She thought she could hear his car door opening over the phone. "Anyone at all?'

"No..." She sighed, her grip on the iron bar tightening a little as she scanned the sidewalk to her left and right. A part of her still didn't believe anything was going to happen, that this was all part of some elaborate and cruel prank by the two of them. "Nothing."

"You sure? Temperature drop indicates the presence of a spirit." She could hear him dialling Dean's number on one of the spare phone's he had stashed in the car. "Check again."

Cheyenne scanned the empty street to her left, and then checked to her right, down the road towards where John's car was parked. "There's nothing, I don't think he's -"

Something - she wasn't entirely sure what - made her pause, tense up. Maybe it was the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, or perhaps it was how insistent John was being that she wasn't alone out there. All of a sudden she didn't feel like she was the only person out on the street.

In an attempt to stay closer to the dim lighting coming from the houses across the street, Cheyenne had taken a position quite close to the curb, so that she could see anyone approaching from the left or the right. What she hadn't considered, however, was how exposed that left her back. And right now, she was getting the sensation that caused her muscles to tense, caused her breath to hitch in her throat.

She was being watched.

Cheyenne spun on the spot, iron bar raised as she swung blindly at whatever she was convinced was behind her. When the bar cut through the air effortlessly, made contact with nothing, she opened her eyes slowly, one after the other. The street was empty.

Praying that no-one was watching her from their bedroom window, Cheyenne sighed, lowering the bar as she felt herself relax a little. It was only then that she realised John was calling her name down the phone. "Cheyenne?"

"Sorry." She said quietly. "I thought... I don't know, I thought there was something behind me. It was nothing."

"You sure?"

"Yep." She swung the iron pipe up, so it came to rest on her shoulder, scanning the sidewalk again. Adrenaline was still pumping through her body, her nerves were still on alert. She couldn't shake that tense feeling entirely. "Street's still empty. You've just got me paranoid."

"Paranoid is good. Paranoid is where I want you. Keep your eyes open, you hear?"

"I hear you." She said quietly, turning slowly to look back at the rest of the street, to the position she'd initially been in. She heard John speaking into the other phone, telling Dean to stay prepared, that McGinley could appear at any minute. That didn't exactly fill her with hope.

She didn't spot him at first. Maybe it was the fact that she was scanning her surroundings so quickly, or maybe it was the fact that he was stood perfectly still, half-cast in shadow. Either way, she missed him the first time, maybe even the second time she looked to her right. When she spotted him, though, she couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

He was maybe twenty or thirty feet from her across the street, body turned so that he could face her fully. The tall hat perched on the top of his head cast his face almost entirely in shadow, but judging by the long coat he was wearing, it was McGinley. Cheyenne's heart pounded painfully quickly in her chest, and another surge of adrenaline coursed through her body. This was supposed to be where her fight-or-flight reflex kicked in, but nothing was happening. Her legs locked in place, even though she was willing them to move, willing herself to get back to John's car.

McGinley tipped his head up to look at the streetlight for a few moments before turning it back, just a fraction, to peer at Cheyenne. A slow, chilling smile spread across his lips, stretching his face into a distorted, Joker-like grin. Neither of them moved for a few seconds, just stared at each other in silence while she prayed that she would be able to run just far enough that she could get back to John. Finally, she managed to swallow past the lump of nerves in the back of her throat and speak. "He's here."

Almost as if he'd heard her, McGinley began moving across the street towards her, coming around the side to block off her path to the car. His long legs carried him across the street towards her with terrifying speed, and he'd already managed to get halfway over to her before her legs started to work again. She was running, trainers hitting the sidewalk without even knowing where she was going. Her heart pounded in her ears as she sprinted down the street and over the road to the opposing sidewalk. Eventually, she slowed enough to turn around, look back at the street she'd just run up.

McGinley was gone. The street was empty, save for John when he rounded the corner, shotgun in hand. Confused, Cheyenne began to walk back towards him, crossing the street again as she looked around for the spirit. "Where the hell did he go? He was right here, I swear..."

"I believe you," John said quietly. "Just get back here."

Cheyenne was walking back up to meet him, maybe a hundred metres off when she felt it again. The hairs on the back of her neck and alone her arms rose to attention, just like before. "John..."

She didn't have time to finish her thought before her legs gave out beneath her like someone had pulled a rug out from under her feet. The iron pip flew out of her hand and rolled away into the road as she hit the sidewalk, pain shooting up her arms from the impact. Groaning, she turned onto her back to see McGinley approaching her, that same sickening grin on his lips as before.

John was running towards her, she could hear his footsteps. McGinley didn't seem bothered, just stepped closer to Cheyenne as he reached into the pocket of his coat, digging around for something. He was about to pull it out when John got close enough to fire a shot, and then McGinley disintegrated before her eyes in an instant, until it was like he'd never been there.

She could hear John calling her name closing the last few between them, and then he was knelt beside her, one hand on her shoulder. "You okay? You alright?"

_Not fucking really, John._

"I think so." She managed to get out, her breathing shaky. "Is that it, did you kill him?"

"No." John murmured darkly, glancing around the street. "He'll be back, and pissed. Hopefully, Dean's in the crypt, and he's getting ready to burn the bones as we speak."

He grabbed hold of her hands, lifting her to her feet with surprising ease. One hand rested on her back gently as he double checked their surroundings for McGinley. When they appeared to be in the clear, he murmured that they should make their way back to the car. She wasn't exactly about to argue, and followed him gladly.

"Did you hit your head when you fell?" John asked, hurrying her along as they moved down the street. "Think you seriously hurt anything?"

Her arms were aching from where she'd managed to break her fall, and her knees were burning from where she was sure she'd skinned them when she'd hit the sidewalk. Other than that, there didn't seem to be any permanent damage, which she told him. Not that he seemed to notice; he was too busy scanning the street ahead and glancing over his shoulders every couple of seconds. "Do you think he'll -"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. They were both launched forward just as before, hitting the floor in unison as something forced them to the ground. Before she even rolled over Cheyenne knew it was McGinley, and when she turned she wasn't surprised to see him approaching them. He wasn't smiling anymore - his face was twisted into a grotesque scowl as he flicked his wrist at John, sending the older man flying further down the street and into an unlit lamppost, where he fell into a crumpled heap. Cheyenne called his name weakly, praying that he was still alive as McGinley turned his attention back to her.

Hurry, Dean. She prayed, trying to shuffle backwards away from him, wincing when she put weight on her right arm and a sharp pain shot from her wrist to her shoulder. McGinley's smile was back as he reached into his pocket again. When he took his hand out something metal glinted in the moonlight, and her stomach twisted painfully. It was a straight razor, the kind she'd only ever seen before in the film Sweeney Todd, which wasn't a good reference point. When she tried to move away from him, McGinley clamped one ice-cold hand around her leg to stop her, leaning over with the razor held high. Cheyenne tried to push him off with her good hand, but it didn't seem to make a difference. In a few seconds, that hand had moved from her leg to her throat, and then he was squeezing.

Cheyenne tried desperately to fight him, feet slipping on the floor as she struggled to find purchase, but he was stronger than her. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air past her constricted windpipe, and black spots started to cloud her vision. She saw him lift the razor above his head, saw him preparing to sink it into her heart and finish her off, and then he stopped. The smile disappeared, and she saw a glint of fear in his eyes. Then, she heard an ear-piercing scream, and his body disappeared into a ball of fire. The pressure around her throat disappeared, and as she blinked the dark spots from her vision and gasped for air, McGinley disappeared.

She didn't realise she was crying until John was shaking her shoulders, calling her name and nothing to soothe her. Instinctively, she curled up towards his body, gasping for air past her choked sobs as she shook in his arms. Surprisingly, he didn't pull away - he did the opposite. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest as he assured her that it was okay, that it was over, that Dean would be there soon.

And she believed him, if only because that was all that she wanted to believe in that moment.


	10. Chapter 10

"Where is she?" 

Cheyenne opened her eyes a crack when she heard Dean's voice. After he'd calmed her down, John had decided to drive her straight home. She suspected he was half worried she was about to go into shock at any moment, so he'd told Dean to meet them back at the apartment after he'd finished covering his tracks at the crypt. When they'd gotten in John had told her to get some sleep, and that he would wait up for his son. 

"She's asleep." John's voice was soft. 

"What the hell happened out there?" Dean's voice was something close to a growl, getting louder as she heard his footsteps get closer to the bedroom. Cheyenne closed her eyes again, pulling the covers up over her shoulders. A second set of footsteps joined Dean's, and then after a moment she heard John's voice again. 

"McGinley was a hell of a lot more powerful than I thought. Knocked us both on our asses. He was going for her when you... Finished the job."

There was a moment of silence, and then her door opened a few inches with a quiet creak. "Jesus... Is she okay? Is she hurt?"

"I could barely get her to talk afterwards. I think she hurt her arm though, McGinley threw her around a bit."

Dean gave a long sigh that eventually turned into a groan. "Okay. I'm going to stay with her for a bit."

John murmured something about going back to the motel, and Cheyenne listened as his footsteps got fainter and fainter until he was out of the apartment. After a few moments, Dean walked into the bedroom properly and crouched by the bed. His fingertips brushed against her cheek as he pushed a few strands of her hair out of her face, and then his hand came to rest gently at the back of her head. "I'm so sorry, baby..." 

Deciding that this was a good time to 'wake up', Cheyenne opened her eyes slowly. Dean was frowning, his eyebrows knitted together with worry. "Hey..."

"Did I wake you up?" He whispered, his hand moving to cup her cheek. She shook her head, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. Dean perched on the edge of the bed, frowning at her in silence. He didn't know what to say, and neither did she. As they sat there, he dropped his gaze to a frayed thread on his jeans, picking at it until he created a tiny hole. 

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked finally, still staring at his jeans. 

"No." Her reply was instantaneous, causing him to finally look up and meet her gaze. "I don't."

"You could've been hurt." He whispered. "You could've been killed on my watch. Because I was stupid enough to let you go out there."

That was true. But she still didn't want him to leave, not that she could really figure out how to express that without sounding insane. Instead, she reached over and slid her hand into his, tangling her fingers into his tightly and looking into his eyes, hoping that he could figure out what she was trying to express. "Don't go."

"If you'd gotten hurt out there... Seriously hurt..." He croaked, reaching out to cup her cheek. "I don't know what I'd have done."

"But I didn't." She said quietly. It wasn't entirely true; she was fairly certain she'd sprained her wrist, and both her knees ached from where she'd fallen and scraped them both along the sidewalk. Not that she could tell him that - she could barely stand to see how guilty he looked already. In only a day he'd turned from the laid-back travelling mechanic she'd met, to an intense Hunter to what could only be described as a child. He looked so young all of a sudden, so innocent. Cheyenne sighed, giving his hand a gentle tug. "C'mere."

Dean frowned, kicking off his black boots and crawling onto the bed properly. When he had laid down, Cheyenne curled up against his chest, her nose nuzzling into his neck as she closed her eyes. "So what now?"

"I don't know." he finally admitted, his fingers resting on her shoulder as he pulled her in closer. "I guess this is all a lot for you to take in, right?"

"It... is." She said quietly, nodding. "But... I know now. So you don't have to lie to me about what you're doing any more. Surely that makes this easier, right?"

"Does it?" He sounded uncertain. "I mean, now you know those things are out there..."

"What?" She smiled gently. "You think I'm going to grab a gun and go out there to fight them myself? I could barely even handle running away from McGinley back there, so you don't need to worry about that." 

Dean still didn't seem convinced. She could feel the tension all over his body, from his locked jaw to his tight shoulders. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying nothing has to change, Dean." She whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You keep going out there, doing what you've been doing. And I'll be here." 

"You'd be okay with that?" He turned his head to look at her properly. "Just... waiting around for me like that?"

The earlier conversation with John was still echoing around in her head. Short expiration dates. "Just as long as don't get yourself killed, I think I can manage." 

Dean was half tempted to argue with her, tell her that she could do better than hanging around waiting for him to drift in from the road, but when he saw the determination in her eyes he knew it was useless. They were both tired, and even though she was telling him that she was fine, Dean knew she'd hurt herself before. The conversation could wait, at least for tonight. 

"Okay." He whispered, pressing his lips against her forehead softly, ghosting a kiss over her skin. "You should get some more sleep. It's been a long night."

"Will you still be here when I wake up?" She asked quietly. Dean nodded slowly his grip on her shoulder tightening a little. 

"Of course I will." he promised. "I'm not going anywhere, Chey." 

She was asleep in minutes, snoring gently against his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his neck. Dean couldn't help the guilt that crept over him, that kept his eyes open in the darkness of her room. He couldn't help the images of her bloodied corpse that flashed in his mind's eye, or hear her screaming his name when he eventually drifted into a restless sleep. 

 

* * *

 

 

She was already awake when he woke the next morning, and judging by the smell of coffee that greeted him, she was in the kitchen. He eased himself out of bed, allowing for one languid stretch before padding through the apartment and into the kitchen. Cheyenne was digging through one of the cupboards using her good hand, evidently struggling to pull something out. "Need a hand?"

"I'm trying to get to the Ace bandages." She murmured, grunting gently as she gave something in the cupboard a sharp tug, before pulling out a first aid kit. "Here we go..."

"Want me to wrap it for you?" Dean asked as she opened the kit up and pulled out the bandage. Cheyenne extended her arm wordlessly, nodding to him. "How bad does it hurt?"

"It's okay. Just can't pick anything up... Or move it." She winced as he started to wrap the bandage around her wrist, tightly enough to immobilise it. "I'll live."

Dean frowned as he finished wrapping the bandage around her wrist. "Yeah... I guess."

"Dean." She said gently, pressing her index finger to the base of his jaw to force him to look up enough to make eye contact with her. "I mean it. I'm okay. I don't regret going out there last night."

He opened his mouth to respond when Ana's bedroom door opened and she walked out into the apartment. "Morning."

"Morning, Ana." He called, not looking away from Cheyenne. 

"What happened to you?" Ana asked, motioning to Cheyenne's wrist. Her dark eyes flickered between the two of them for a moment before landing on Cheyenne, one eyebrow arched inquisitively. 

"Alcohol, heels and stairs don't mix." She lied, managing a small laugh. "I'll be okay, as soon as Dean stops mothering me."

"I'm not mothering you." He said defensively, one hand finding a place on her waist. "M'just worried. It was... a nasty fall." 

"And I'm fine." She assured him, glancing up to look at him pointedly. Ana seemed satisfied by their answer and walked past them to make herself a coffee, and once her back was to them Cheyenne managed to mouth 'stop it' to Dean, who pursed his lips in irritation. He said nothing in response though, not until they both had their coffees and they were in Cheyenne's room again. 

"Would you just let me be concerned? For like five minutes?" He sat on the edge of the bed with a small huff, looking up at her with a childish pout playing at his lips. Cheyenne just laughed quietly, approaching him slowly before straddling his lap so she could reach up to run her fingers through his hair. 

"Do you remember the night you showed up here after a bar fight?" She asked quietly, pausing when she saw the expression on his face. "The... not bar fight."

"You probably don't want to know how I actually got busted up." He told her quietly, managing a guilty smile. 

"Well, you remember that night?" She started again. "Remember how I was so worried about you? And you just told me to relax, that you were okay..."

"That was different." Dean said quickly. "I get my ass beat for a living. A couple of scrapes is nothing to me."

Cheyenne smiled at him again, but now there was something different about it, the way it didn't quite warm her eyes. When she spoke, her tone was even, calm, pointed.  "Well, a sprained wrist is nothing to me."

His eyebrows knitted together for a second as he tried to figure out what she meant, but before he could ask she'd kissed him gently and stood up. The conversation was obviously over, and Dean doubted she would even respond if he asked her again. That didn't mean he didn't stop thinking about it though, even when she'd put Dr Sexy on and she was curled up to his chest. Even that night, when she ordered them pizza and they'd shared a half dozen beers together it still played on his mind, over and over again as he tried to figure out what she meant. He tried, for as long as possible to reach more than one conclusion, because the only answer he could come up with chilled him to his core. 

It was the kind of answer that made him never want to walk out of her apartment again.


	11. Chapter 11

He was back on the road in two days, despite his protestations. Cheyenne had all but pushed him out of the apartment (with her one good hand) after the three calls he'd avoided from his father, telling him to call her that night but to make sure he got his ass on the road, Winchester. He'd driven away from her reluctantly, replaying the conversation over and over in his head as he drove in silence. Part of him - a big part of him, in fact - wanted to call her, demand that she explain what she'd meant.

He never did, though. Perhaps it was because he was afraid forcing her to talk about it would push her away. Perhaps it was because he still wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer for sure. Either way, he never asked when they spoke on the phone every night, and she never brought it up. She asked about his work a few times, and he gave her the most PG explanations he could come up with, still hesitant to throw too much on her at once. He asked about college, tried his best to understand what she meant when she talked him through her assignments and the books she was reading, and sometimes she would drift off to the sound of his voice and he'd just hang up with a soft 'goodnight.' 

With every phonecall he was getting more and more frustrated with their time apart. It was affecting everything. When he dreamed, he dreamed of her face. When he listened to music in the car, he could hear her singing along. Even Hunting wasn't providing him with enough of a distraction any more. Where it had been a good outlet for his frustrations, it was now quickly becoming his only barrier to seeing her. 

John had noticed the change in his son. Dean had always been a good Hunter - maybe he wasn't the fastest, maybe he wasn't the smartest, but John couldn't fault his work ethic, particularly when it came to closing a job. Now, though, he was distracted. He didn't seem to approach the job with the same zeal or vigour he once had done. When they finished a job, he was anxious to get back on the road, and John noted that the jobs Dean seemed to be looking at were in the northwest, none of them far from Wisconsin. This went on for weeks after the McGinley incident, with Dean growing anxious to get back to her with every passing day. 

They were working a job in Washington state when Dean got the call.

They'd just finished eating takeout food from a burger joint John loved when Dean's phone rang. He recognised the caller ID instantly and stood up to take it, a little concerned. They had an unspoken agreement that she wouldn't call him, that he would wait until he had a few minutes free from the job to call and talk. "Hey, Chey-"

"Dean?" He could hear her sniffing on the other end of the line, barely managing to speak past her sobs. "Dean?"

"Cheyenne, what is it?" The tone of Dean's voice made John look up from his journal. His son's shoulders had bunched, his forehead furrowed as he listened. "Chey, I can barely understand you. What's happened, where are you?" He paused, waiting for a response. "Rivergrove, Oregon... Okay. I can, yeah... Yeah, I can get there in a few hours, okay? Just sit tight, I'll be there as soon as I can. I promise, I'll get there as fast as possible. Chey?"

She must've hung up on him, because he put his phone into his pocket with a sigh, looking over at his Dad. "Something happened."

"What? Is she okay?" John asked. Dean shook his head, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and pulling it on.

"I don't know. She's freaked out. I've got to go."

John knew Dean was in no mood to argue, so he didn't bother telling his son to just call the cops to the girl's house. "Go. I'll finish up here."

"You're sure?" Dean asked, more as a courtesy than a genuine question. John could already see him reaching for his car keys. "I don't want to leave you-"

"Go." John cut across him sharply. "Something's obviously wrong, and I can handle this."

He didn't need telling a third time. With a hurried goodbye, Dean was out of the door, and after a minute John heard the low rumble of his old Impala, the screech of the tyres as Dean burned rubber in the parking lot, and then silence as he tore away. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was dark when Dean arrived in Oregon. Cheyenne had barely managed to get out her address before she'd hung up on him, begging him one more time to hurry to her, and every time he'd tried to call her back on the route over, the phone had rung with no answer.

He could hear the yelling as soon as he climbed out of the Impala, and his muscles tensed instinctively, checking the street around him was empty before reaching into the glove compartment of the Impala for his Beretta before slamming the driver's side door closed and taking the steps up to the house two at a time. Inside, a man was screaming something barely-coherent, and he heard a glass smash. Not bothering with the nicety of knocking, Dean steadied himself for a second before delivering a swift kick to the door, which forced it open so hard it bounced off the wall with a smash. "Cheyenne?"

She was in the kitchen, backed up against the far wall when he ran in. Across the room from her an older man - presumably Cheyenne's father - had a broken glass in his hand he'd obviously been waving around. Dean assumed that was the source of the smash he'd heard a few moments earlier. "And who the fuck is this, huh?!"

"Cheyenne, get behind me." Dean reached out for her, and for a few seconds she stood there, frozen in fear. "Chey, it's okay, come on."

"Don't you move a fuckin' muscle." The older man spat, pointing at her with the bottle as he took a step towards them. "Who is this huh? Boyfriend of yours?"

Cheyenne stood there, locked in place as she looked between the two of them. Now he was closer Dean could see the split lip and bruised cheek, likely a courtesy of the man on the other side of the kitchen table. She was holding her right arm at an odd angle too, and Dean had a sinking suspicion that she was trying to hold a dislocated shoulder in the least uncomfortable position possible. "Chey, it's okay." He said, trying to the cold anger out of his voice as he addressed her. "Come here."

She inched her way across the room to him, keeping her back pressed flat against the wall  as she closed the gap between them. When she was close enough, Dean grabbed her good arm and pulled her towards him, swinging her around so that she was behind him in one swift movement. "Is there anyone else in the house?"

"No." She whispered shakily. "It's just us."

"Good." Dean muttered, hearing his voice drop to something close to a growl. As her father approached, Dean managed to swing an arm out to block his path to Cheyenne, sending him stumbling backwards into the kitchen. 

"Dean, don't." She tried to stop him, reached out to grab his shoulder and pull him back, but he shrugged her off. "Let's just go, please..."

He ignored her. He was angry, so angry that he'd been right, that he'd done nothing to act on his suspicions, that she'd even been in this situation in the first place. When he threw the first punch, felt his fist connect with her father's face for the first time, it felt good. He threw the older man back against the kitchen table so hard he probably broke a rib before grabbing him by the front of his shirt and hauling him to the floor, where he threw punch after punch. With every crunch of bone, with every ache that shot through his fist and up his arm, Dean felt all of his frustrations that had been building up inside him since McGinley finally release. He rained down blow after blow, ignoring Cheyenne's screams to stop until he finally felt her hand on his shoulder, fingernails digging into the muscle. "Dean, that's enough!"

He stopped, fist still raised. His chest rose and fell heavily, his breathing audible as he finally slumped back, dropping his fist. Cheyenne's grip on his shoulder relaxed a little, she leaned into him with her forehead pressed into his back. "Thank you." She finally croaked. 

Dean closed his eyes, trying to calm down so he didn't end up finishing the job and beating Cheyenne's father to death in front of her. He inhaled slowly, shakily before letting out one long breath. "Chey, get your coat. Now."

She murmured something in agreement before getting up and walking away. He heard her footsteps fade as she made her way upstairs, before turning back to her father. He was still choking past the blood in his mouth, still groaning on the floor from what Dean hoped were some serious fractures. He leaned over, closing his hand around the man's thick throat, squeezing just hard enough to let him know how serious he was, forcing him to look up into his eyes.

"If I ever have to come back here..." He began, his voice shaking with white hot anger. "If you so much as lay one finger on her again, I'll finish this. Do you understand?"

He got nothing but a groan, and in response he slammed the man's head back against the tiles. "I said,  _do you understand_?"

"Yes." He croaked, blinking back tears. "Yes."

"Good." Dean spat, pulling his Beretta out from where he'd tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, taking the safety off with a click as he pressed the barrel to the older man's temple. "You're lucky she's a better person than the both of us, or I would have pulled the trigger."

He was half tempted to still do it, but when he heard Cheyenne's footsteps on the staircase, Dean pulled back, tucking his gun back into his jeans as he stood up. "You're not worth the bullet."

When he turned around, Cheyenne was stood by the door, her coat in one hand. She was staring at the bloodied mess on the floor, her eyes wide and unblinking. When Dean approached her, he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks, and he could feel himself relax, feel his gaze warm. "Chey..." 

"You didn't... He's not..." She looked up at him, swallowing hard. Dean shook his head, sighing. 

"Lucky for him, no." He cast her father a cold glance before looking back at her, his voice a little softer. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

 

* * *

 

 

"It hasn't been that bad in a long time." She whispered. Dean glanced over at her in the darkness of the car, brow furrowed. She hadn't spoken since they'd left the house, hadn't even said anything when he'd stopped at the convenience store to buy supplies. They'd driven for fifteen minutes in complete silence, neither knowing what to say to the other.

"How bad is it normally?" He hadn't meant for his tone to be so accusatory, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her flinch. 

"He gets angry a lot." She whispered. "When I screw up. Sometimes he yells, throws things. It's been a while since it's gotten that bad."

"Why didn't you tell me, Chey?" It came out the way he'd meant it to this time. Softer. Warmer.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was quiet as she avoided his gaze. "Are you angry?"

Something about the way she said that made him feel sick. She sounded so defeated, so tired. Every syllable was laced with guilt, guilt she shouldn't have been feeling. He knew saying 'no' wouldn't take that away, but he tried to say it as sincerely as he could. "Of course I'm not. You think I would be?"

She offered him a one-armed shrug, wincing in pain as she shifted the weight on her dislocated shoulder. "Fuck..."

"I'll set it when we get to the motel." He promised her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She was gnawing on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, probably as a way to distract herself from the pain in her arm. He knew from experience that the brain had a blocking mechanism to cope with pain - it dealt with the most pressing injury first, distracting from any others. On more than one occasion he'd seen his father use this tactic to distract himself from an injury on a hunt, and he knew it wasn't pleasant. "We're nearly there. How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay." Her reaction was almost like a reflex - too fast to be genuine. Dean didn't press her, he knew it wouldn't get him the answers he wanted, he knew it would only upset her. Finally he pulled into the parking lot of a half-decent motel, paid for the night and ushered her into their room. 

"Okay." Dean said quietly, locking the door behind them. "Let's get a look at that arm."

She protested weakly, but eventually, after he'd insisted several times and pushed a bottle of whiskey into her good hand, she'd relented. Dean laid her down on the bed gently, allowing her a couple of minutes to breath. He watched for a few seconds as she readied herself, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to relax the muscles in her shoulder. After he gave her something to bite down on (a scrunched up pillowcase he'd ripped off one of the cheap motel pillows), Cheyenne gave him the nod of permission he needed to begin relocating the shoulder. Taking her hand in his, Dean began to move her arm up, his stomach twisting painfully when he heard her whimper into the pillowcase. He kept going, even though tears were leaking out of the corners of her eyes and rolling down her temples into her hair; even though she was gripping the bedsheets so hard her knuckles were bright white against her skin; even though he could hear her muffled cries grow louder with every passing second. After what seemed like an age (but was probably only a few seconds), Dean heard her shoulder slide back into place with a dull  _clunk_ , and felt her body relax against the bed. 

A minute or so passed, and her cries had subsided. She still hadn't moved though, and Dean was half-concerned that she'd passed out on the bed from the pain. Eventually though, her eyes opened. She blinked a few times to clear her vision before struggling into a sitting position, looking over at him in the darkness of the motel room. A few seconds passed before she managed to speak. "Thank you." 

"Don't thank me." He whispered, getting up and going to the bag of groceries. He'd had the forethought to buy a bag of frozen peas from the store they'd driven by, and when he passed her the bag she took it gratefully, pressing it to the side of her face. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Not your fault." She said quietly, staring at a spot in front of her without blinking. "S'not anyone's fault."

"Yes it is." He reminded her gently, taking the free spot beside her on the bed, one hand coming to rest gently on her knee. "Chey, why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not like it came up in conversation." She pointed out with a chuckle, even though neither of them felt much like laughing. "When was I supposed to tell you 'hey, my dad gets drunk and knocks me around sometimes!' Somewhere in between us fucking and you telling me you hunt monsters?"

"Don't say it like that." His voice came out with more of an edge than he'd meant, and he took a pause, reeling himself back in mentally before speaking again. "You could have just told me you didn't want to go home. I wouldn't have asked questions."

"Yes you would have." The ghost of a smile played in her eyes for a brief second as she looked at him. "And then when I told you, you would have just driven down here and done the same thing you just did."

"Yeah..." Dean admitted, sharing the smile for a moment. "I probably would have."

"Ana knows." She said after a moment, turning her head away from him again. It was easier to have this conversation when she didn't have to see the gut wrenching look in his eyes, that mixture between sympathy and sorrow that made her heart ache. "She figured it out when I came back from Christmas break with a busted lip. And... then came back from summer with my arm in a sling."

Dean felt that little flame of anger inside him flare up again. "Ana knew?" He echoed. That edge was back. "And she didn't tell me? She let you come down here?"

"She's already told me I'm welcome in Austin whenever I want." Cheyenne said quietly, one silent tear rolling down her cheek. "It's my fault for not taking her up on the offer."

There it was again. The guilt that made Dean's stomach twist in knots, made him want to get back in his car and finish what he'd started back at her house. With a frown, he got off the bed and crouched in front of her, one hand settling on her cheek as his thumb smeared the tear away. "It's not your fault. None of this is, okay? I promise you that."

"I always screw up." She croaked, her voice threatening tears. "I always do something,  _anything_  to -"

Dean shushed her gently, stroking the hair back from her face as he sat back beside her, all but pulling her into his lap. That self-doubt, self-reproach: it was a sentiment he knew all too well. It hit a little close to the nerve for him. "I don't care what you did. I don't care if you crashed his god-damned car. He shouldn't have done that to you. And I don't want you to believe anything else, you hear me?" 

She didn't respond. Couldn't respond past the tears that spilled out of her eyes, the sobs that choked her as she leaned into him, face buried into his shirt. The bag of frozen peas slid from her grip and rolled onto the floor where they were forgotten about until the next morning. Dean laid back, cradling her against his chest and whispering the most comforting things he could think of as she shook with tears, until eventually the sobs subsided and she drifted off to sleep against him. 

Dean couldn't sleep though. Just like the night after they torched McGinley, he laid awake for hours, going over the night again and again. He thought about what could have happened if he'd gotten there five minutes later, if there had been traffic. If she'd never even been able to get to the phone in the first place. 

Eventually he fell into a restless sleep, murmuring her name as he dreamed of happier evenings.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean agreed to drive her to Texas the next morning, and she had no hesitation in saying yes. After explaining the previous nights' events to John, Dean waited hesitantly for permission to take time out to drive Cheyenne to Ana's house. A few moments of silence passed until John conceded that they both needed some downtime, and agreed to call Dean after a week with their new job, before hanging up.

He barely left her side that morning. When they went to her house (it was empty - he checked every room twice before even letting her through the front door) he stuck by her side, hovering over her shoulder while she packed. When they stopped at a gas station and she got out to pee, he got out too, and all but followed her into the bathroom. (She shot him a disapproving look and he resigned himself to hanging around outside the mens' room, pretending to wait for a free cubicle until she came out). He visibly tensed up when strangers approached her, all but smacked the cashier's hand away when he tried to give Cheyenne her change, and generally hung around her like a pissed-off shadow, shooting surly looks at any man who dared glance in her direction. 

Cheyenne, on the other hand, seemed to have largely recovered from the night before. When she woke up, apparently unfazed from the previous night's events, Dean decided it was best not to touch on the subject too much, out of his (admittedly selfish) fear of making her cry again. Throughout the day she seemed like her normal self, except for the angry bruise on her cheek that she did her best to conceal, and the makeshift sling Dean had given her for the dislocated shoulder.  It was her idea to turn the two-day trip into a five-day affair, making it into a miniature road trip they could relax on. The idea appealed to him; he rarely actually got the opportunity to do much sightseeing with the job demanding as much of his time as it did, so he agreed to a little Rest and Relaxation. He packed junk food (or 'Road Fuel' as he proudly called it) and she pointed out things on the route they could stop off and see. 

During the day they tore down the highways, blasting out Dean's favourite collection of cassette tapes (she'd laughed when he pulled the box out from under the passenger's seat, but seemed to find the record collection endearing), and singing along badly. During the night they crashed in criminally cheap motel rooms, sitting up next to each other to spend most of the night talking before eventually passing out, their arms wrapped around one another. 

When Dean finally pulled up outside of Ana's house, they sat in silence for a few moments, both staring at the driveway. Neither of them had acknowledged it, but they both knew he couldn't stay for long after he walked her into the house, and neither of them really wanted the mini road trip to end. A few days of fun hadn't really made up for how badly the past few weeks had sucked, and Dean knew he was going to struggle to drive away from her, more so than normal. 

When she saw the car parked outside, Ana ran to greet them, pulling Cheyenne into a tight hug. Dean stood the other side of the car awkwardly, drumming his fingers against the hood of the Impala as he looked on. When they pulled apart Dean met Ana's gaze and the two shared a solemn, knowing nod of acknowledgement. They were invited inside, and while Cheyenne went to the bathroom, Ana turned to Dean, brows furrowed. 

"What happened?" She asked quietly. "Back in Oregon."

Dean sighed, folding his arms over his chest. "You know about her Dad, right?"

"Yeah." Ana nodded. "We never really talked about it properly, but I figured it out. She can stay here for the rest of the break, and she's welcome back here over summer, if she wants."

"Thank you." Dean sighed, dragging a hand over his jaw, stubble scratching against his palm as he down the hallway Cheyenne had walked through a few minutes before. He couldn't stop thinking about what could have happened if he'd gotten there a few minutes later, the mental image kept playing over and over again in his mind's eye. 

"Was it bad?" Ana asked after a moment, still frowning. Dean's eyes flickered over to meet her gaze, and he nodded silently, swallowing hard. He knew he couldn't talk about it and keep the anger out of his voice, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from rambling if he started. 

"Yes." He finally managed to say, his voice clipped and strained. 

For a moment, she seemed to struggle with what to say. It was difficult to express how they were feeling without sounding like they were quoting the world's worst soap opera (tears and all), but she tried. "You're a good guy, Dean."

He scoffed at that, couldn't stop himself. Of course Ana would think that - she had no idea what he did for a job, she thought he was just a friendly travelling mechanic.

"I mean it. If it wasn't for you I'd probably be heading to her funeral." For the first time since they'd met, there was no hint of humour in Ana's dark eyes, no hint of laughter. It was almost unnerving. "So thank you. For just being there for her."

They didn't keep talking after that, not when they heard Cheyenne's footsteps down the hallway and she reappeared, managing a smile - more for their benefit than hers. The three of them made small talk for a few minutes after that, all of them ignoring the elephant in the room with impressive skill before eventually Dean knew he couldn't put off his departure for much longer. 

Cheyenne walked him back to the Impala, her fingers tangled so tightly with his that it bordered on painful. They walked slowly, more slowly than was really necessary, neither wanting the walk to end. Both of them hated goodbyes. 

Dean turned to face her as they stood by the driver's side door, eyes narrowed against the mid-afternoon Texan sun, which only stood to highlight the peppering of freckles across his features. "So... Another goodbye."

"Seems like we're doing a lot of these." She smiled gently, but it was another one of those smiles that played on her lips without ever reaching her eyes. 

"Yeah, it does." Dean murmured, sighing as he pulled her closer. Her arms wound around his neck loosely, a comforting weight on his shoulders, and then her face was buried in his chest and her hair was tickling his nose as he hugged her close. They stood like that for what could have been a few seconds, or could have stretched into minutes, with neither one wanting to be the person to let go. 

Finally she pulled back a little so that she could look up at him, still close enough that when he tilted his head down their noses brushed against one another. "Chey..."

"Yeah?" Her voice was soft, almost just a whisper.

His heart was pounding so quickly in his chest that he could feel it everywhere, from his neck to the insides of his elbows, and it beat so loudly he could hear it pulsing in his ears, making his head hurt. The words that had been burning on his lips for the past week echoed in his head over and over until it was almost like a scream, but when he opened his mouth to speak it was bone dry, and he couldn't get anything out. Instead, he kissed her slowly, trying to memorise the way her lips felt on his, the way her fingers felt as they sank into his hair, the way her perfume tickled his nose as she pressed herself up against him. After they pulled apart, he tried again to say it, but the words wouldn't come out. 

 _Coward_. 

Instead he told her that he was going to miss her, that he'd call her that night when he found a motel, and that by the time she arrived back at college he would be driving up to see her. None of that was a lie, but it also wasn't what he really wanted to tell her. 

It was only after she was out of his rearview mirror, after he was alone in the car with only the sound of his favourite album for comfort that he dared to say it, his voice barely audible over Robert Plant's singing. He said it to himself, as he sat waiting at a red light, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he pictured her riding shotgun. In his head, she'd heard it, and she'd smiled. In reality, she was three miles away in her best friend's kitchen sipping beers on the porch, and she hadn't heard the words that he'd meant for her.

 _Coward_.


	13. Chapter 13

The next few months were uneventful, or about as uneventful as Dean's life could be. He'd show up on her doorstep in varying states - sometimes he'd be fine, sometimes he'd show up with a few scrapes, sometimes half covered in blood, but he'd always have that lopsided, goofy grin on his face. 

She'd never broached the subject with him, never said the exact words, but she'd realised at some point, after everything that had happened with the McGinley hunt and everything that had happened at home, she was falling in love with him. It was difficult to admit after the conversation she'd had with John in the car, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. More and more of her time was taken up thinking about him, checking her phone to see if he'd texted her; staying up until two in the morning when he was free from a hunt to talk about nothing at all; daydreaming about the next time she'd be able to see him. Not that she'd ever actually acknowledge any of these feelings out loud, of course. Even though she knew Dean cared about her - he'd proved that enough times already - she still wasn't sure that hearing those words wouldn't send him running for the hills. She didn't want to do anything to scare him off.

Dean was struggling just as much as she was - more, even. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, barely even come close. He knew exactly how he felt about her, he'd almost blurted it out a handful of times, but had always chickened out at the last second. The words were always there though, dancing on the tip of his tongue. Always, even right now as he was watching her cook dinner from across the room, where he was leaning against the kitchen counter. Her hair had been thrown back into a loose ponytail, her thick glasses were sliding halfway down her nose, and her shirt - actually, his shirt - was sliding off one shoulder as she stirred the pasta sauce.

To tell the truth, it wasn't where he would have pictured himself on a Friday night if he'd been asked his plans a year ago. He certainly wouldn't have imagined that he'd be finding himself struggling to tell a woman that he loved her, if you'd asked him. He was a Hunter, a lone wolf on the road. He'd never imaged, never even dreamed that he'd have somewhere to come back to, or someone to come back to. Someone who'd be waiting for him with open arms. 

He was supposed to be helping cook, but instead he was caught up in watching her, mind racing as his tongue burned with the words he'd been desperate to get out for months now. 

Say it.

She turned to look at him, pushing her glasses up with her index finger slowly, one eyebrow arched. "Hey Winchester, how are we doing on the cheese grating?" 

Say it, you fucking coward. 

Dean coughed, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully as he glanced behind him at the empty plate and unused cheese grater. "Uh, fantastic. Great in fact."

"Was that a pun?" Cheyenne held a wooden spoon out threateningly, eyes narrowed at him as he pulled a block of cheese from the fridge. "In my apartment? How dare you?"

Dean chuckled as she turned back to the pasta sauce, the smile playing on his lips for a few seconds before fading.  _Just tell her._

"Chey." He blurted out before he could stop himself. She half turned back to him, glancing over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. 

"Yeah?"

Dean's heart pounded uncomfortably quickly in his chest, so fast that he could feel it in his throat, so loudly he could have sworn he could hear it.  _What's the worst that could happen?_

"I..." He faltered, the words dying in his throat like they always did. "How much cheese am I grating?"

A line appeared between her brows for a few seconds as she cast him a look of confusion. "A... Normal amount? You're a big boy, Winchester, you know how much we use."

"Yeah, yeah sure." He murmured, turning his back to her to start grating the cheese, squeezing his eyes shut as he cursed himself.

 _Coward_.

 

* * *

 

 

They'd been together for close to nine months when John called out of the blue. Dean had taken a few days off after finishing a case he'd worked on his own, and had headed to her apartment, where she'd greeted him with open arms and fresh (store bought) pie. They'd marathoned some Dr Sexy that she'd DVR'd for him, but halfway through the second day she'd dozed off, her head resting on his stomach. He didn't mind; there was something comforting about feeling the weight on him, something that he liked about being able to tangle his fingers into her soft hair, massaging small circles into her scalp as she slept, every so often nuzzling into him or murmuring his name in her sleep. 

When the phone rang he was half asleep himself, his eyes were dropping closed as he rested lazily on the headboard. As soon as he heard his ringtone he reached for the phone blindly, groaning gently as he answered. "Hello?" 

The instruction was short, but clear. He was to meet outside immediately, no questions asked. Like always, without fail, Dean eased himself out of bed, got dressed, placed a gentle kiss on Cheyenne's forehead, and walked out the door. 

John was waiting for him in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of his truck. Beside him, there was a dark bag. As Dean approached, John looked up, folding his arms. 

"What's up?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. It wasn't like his dad to show up like this.

"Look in the bag." John grunted, motioning the the black bag beside him before looking away, scanning the street around the apartment building. Cautiously, Dean approached it and unzipped it slowly, peeking in. When he saw what was inside he lurched backwards instinctively, groaning. 

"Jesus Christ... What's that doing in there?"

John straightened up, plucking the bag off the hood of the car, zipping it up and tossing it into the backseat. Dean shuddered, folding his arms. "Why do you have a head in a bag?"

"Because I cut it off a vamp." John slammed the door shut, pointing to a spot in the dark close to the apartment building. "Right over there." 

Dean followed his gaze, frowning. John was pointing to a spot about five feet from the front door to Cheyenne's building. "The hell was a vamp doing out here?"

"It's from the nest we took out." John said quietly. "The first job we worked here. We must have left a few stragglers, because I got word of a couple of vamps up here from an old buddy. That head came from the last of them."

"They're from that old nest and they're still in town? Why?"

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Dean... Think about it."

Dean caught the knowing look, and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. "No..."

"It's the only explanation, son." For the first time in a long time, John had dropped the steely, military demeanour. He actually looked sympathetic. "I think they were here for her, retaliation after we took out the nest."

"No." Dean shook his head quickly. He couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it. "No, that's not possible, it's got to be -"

"A coincidence?" John shook his head, sighing. "You know it's not. Dean, sooner or later, you must have known... It was always going to happen."

Dean turned back to the apartment building. From here, he could see the light from her bedroom window, where he knew she was still curled up in bed, her hand splayed out on the Dean-sized impression on the bed next to her. Hot tears pricked at his eyes as a lump burned in his throat that he couldn't swallow past.  "I can't... I can't just..."

"Son, you know it as well as I do." John said gently, one heavy hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "You're putting her in danger." 

He knew it was true, deep down. If he admitted it to himself, a part of him knew it was going to end like this - either that or the much nastier alternative - but he'd never wanted to fully embrace it. "I should... I should say goodbye-"

"You really think if you walk up there you're going to be able to come back down again?"

The grip on his shoulder tightened, just a little, and he heard John's voice again. "Come on, son. We need to go. She'll be safer without you here."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Cheyenne woke up alone, she assumed he'd gone to get more food from the kitchen. When she found his boots and clothes gone though, she got concerned. It was almost midnight, so it wasn't as if he'd gone to get snacks. Frowning, she grabbed her phone, calling his number. 

He didn't pick up the first time. Or the second. 

The third time, when she was starting to get really worried, he picked up. "Dean? Is everything okay? I woke up and you were gone..."

"Yeah." He croaked. 

"Well, is everything okay?" She sat up in bed, pushing her hair out of her face with her free hand. "Are you on the road already? You got another job?"

"Um... Yeah." He murmured quietly, barely audible over the sounds of the road in the background. 

"Well, when will you be back?" She asked quietly, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice. "You didn't finish all your pie."

Even her gentle teasing couldn't elicit a response, and for a few moments the two of them sat in silence, until Dean broke it, clearing his throat with a short cough. "Chey... We should talk."

In an instant, her heart plummeted to her stomach. That didn't sound good. "We... About what?"

Dean was quiet for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. "I won't be coming back to Wisconsin."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It hurt him, physically hurt him to say the words. He wasn't even sure what he said, but he knew he didn't tell her the truth. If he told her the real reason he was walking away, she'd try to convince him to stay, try to convince him that it wouldn't be that big of a problem. And the worst part was, he knew that it wouldn't take much to convince him, that all she'd have to do was ask him not to leave and he wouldn't. 

She didn't ask. Didn't say anything at all as he rambled into the phone, trying his best not to say 'fuck it', tell her everything, and finally, finally say the three words he'd wanted to say for months. She didn't beg for him to turn the car around, didn't ask him not to leave. When he finished speaking, she didn't say a word. Then finally, after what felt like an age of listening to static, she spoke. 

"Goodbye, Dean."

The clicked off, so all he could hear was the dial tone, and with those two words, Dean felt his heart break. 

He pulled over to the side of the road with a sharp swerve, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding so heavy in his chest he thought it would burst, scrambling out of the car and into the cold night air. For a few seconds he stood there in silence, just staring into middle distance, anger bubbling somewhere deep inside him. 

Then, without warning, it exploded. He screamed into the sky, at the cars that sped past him down the highway. He screamed that it wasn't fair, that it wasn't right, that he deserved to be happy, just once. And finally, like one last piece of catharsis, he threw his phone against the tarmac, watched it smash into a hundred little pieces. Finally, the dial tone stopped. 

After a few seconds, his breathing calmed, and his heart beat slowed. With one long sigh that lifted his shoulders and went through his whole body, Dean relaxed enough to ease himself back into the front seat of the Impala, stony faced and silent. When he turned the key in the ignition again and set off, he was stiff and cold, like every movement was painful. 

It didn't take long for the tears to brim in his eyes and spill over, rolling down his cheeks  and dripping onto his shirt. He didn't care, didn't make any movement to wipe them away. Instead he just let them fall, until finally, he just couldn't cry any more.


	14. Chapter 14

**2005**

It had been almost a year since Dean had walked out on her, and for the most part, he was able to get on with his life. It had been hard at first, but he'd pushed her to the back of his head, swallowed his pride (and a large amount of his happiness) and had tried to focus on Hunting. 

That wasn't to say he'd completely forgotten about her. Far from it. 

There were little things that kept reminding him of her. He couldn't channel surf late at night without finding a station that was playing reruns of _Columbo,_ and he'd often find himself sitting up to watch them without even realising. Whenever he passed by a college campus on a job, he'd feel a familiar sting as images of her tucked up in the library behind a pile of books sprung to his mind's eye. A woman at a bar he was drinking in ordered a 'Cinnamon old fashioned' and he'd had to turn away abruptly when she was served. The smell alone made him feel sick to his stomach. 

"So uh... When do you think you'll be back in town next?" The woman from the night before leaned on the doorframe, biting her lip as she looked up at him. "You know, see if we could go for a round two?"

There had to be something wrong with him. This woman was objectively gorgeous - anyone with a pair of eyes within a hundred miles would have been able to tell him that - but she was  _wrong_. Something twisted in his stomach as he looked at her, from her hopeful eyes to the long legs that were barely concealed under her dressing gown. He should have been back in her bedroom, still naked under the covers, not rushing out of the door at the first hint of sunrise like a criminal. 

She looked a lot like Cheyenne, and he figured that was what made it all that much worse. From the back, in dim lighting, his heart had skipped a beat when he'd seen her the night before. Then as he'd gotten closer, he felt familiar disappointment swell in his chest. The details gave it away; her hair was just a couple of shades too light to match Cheyenne's, and her eyes were entirely the wrong colour. The voice was wrong too - too light and airy, too giggly to the point where it found on him like nails against a chalkboard. It was all just _wrong_. 

"Not sure. How about I give you a call?" He suggested, shooting her a heart-melting grin and placing a quick, chaste kiss on her lips before turning and walking away, almost running down the stairs to get back to his car. 

Her number was still on his phone. He'd kept it, plugged it into every burner phone he'd bought since he'd walked out _just in case_. Just in case one day he had the courage to call her again, apologise and explain himself, and walk back into her life. He'd imagined doing it over and over again, replayed it a hundred different ways in his head. Each time he'd call her, he'd figure out exactly what to say, and they'd cry over the phone, and she'd be dumb enough to take him back. Or maybe he'd drive through the night to land on her doorstep, just like he used to, with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a box of her favourite chocolates in the other.

He never did though. Maybe it was the fear of rejection - he wasn't sure he could handle hearing her tell him to go fuck himself (even though he thought he deserved it). Maybe he was afraid he'd show up at her door and another guy would answer, and he'd have to stand there and be introduced as 'the ex... you know, I told you about him.'

Dean thumbed through his contacts list, landing on her name, just like he'd done a hundred times before. His finger hovered over the 'call' button, ready to press, and for a second he thought better of it. Usually in this situation, his head won out, and he'd stuff his cellphone back into his pocket, kick the car into first gear, and drive off, forgetting about trying to contact her for a few days. This time, he didn't. 

It rang a few times before she picked up, and when he heard her voice, for the first time in almost a year, Dean felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Hello?"

_Tell her how you feel. Apologise, tell her everything._

He didn't though, couldn't quite get the words out. Instead, he panicked and improvised, putting on a southern drawl. "Uh, hi there. Is this Cassidy, from the bar last night? It's David."

"Uh..." There was a pause. "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong number."

_I really don't._

"Oh." Dean swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat. "Thanks anyway." He said quietly, wincing as he heard her put down the phone with a  _click_. His phone ended up on the passenger's seat, and he threw the car into gear, burning rubber in the parking lot in his haste to get back to the motel. 

The radio crackled to life, and for a few seconds all he heard was static while it searched for a station. When it finally tuned in, Dean almost wished it hadn't. 

She'd fucking loved Bon Jovi, so of course that was what came on. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see her in the front seat, one foot resting lazily on the glove compartment while an arm hung out of the window. Her hair was blowing in the breeze, sunglasses obscuring half her face. She was wearing one of his shirts, one of the ones he'd 'accidentally' left in her room after a weekend, with the sleeves rolled up just enough that she could actually use her hands. When she turned to look at him, her grin was huge, almost splitting her face in two, and he could hear her singing along. 

Dean blinked, and she was gone. The seat beside him was empty, save for the cellphone he'd tossed over in anger. With a grunt, he reached over to switch off  _You Give Love a Bad Name_ , opting to ride the rest of the journey in silence instead. 

It was safer that way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She'd largely moved on with her life. 

Of course, the box of his things that was stuffed at the back of her wardrobe would have told a different story, had anyone taken the time to look. But when she was asked, when Ana prodded her gently on her birthday or Jake shot her a concerned look on Valentine's Day, she assured them that she'd moved on, that she was over him. Dean Winchester was nothing more than a ghost at the back of her mind, a happy memory. She was even interested in some of the guys from her class, she was considering asking one of them for drinks.

All of that was bullshit. 

She still thought about him. Whenever she saw dark, unkempt hair in the queue in front of her she felt a pang in her chest. When she finally bought her first car, a cherry red Ford pickup, she could almost hear his laughter in her head. Whenever Led Zeppelin played on the radio, she was quick to change the station, complaining that she hated them. The truth was, it reminded her of him. Every single song, even the first A-minor of  _Stairway to Heaven_   and she'd move to turn it off like she'd been electrocuted. She was starting to think her friends might think she had a personal problem with Robert Plant.

He didn't consume her every waking moment, though. Not any more. She was done being angry, done crying over him. Dean wasn't worthy of her time, that much was clear to her. Cheyenne decided, after a week of locking herself away and refusing to talk to anyone, that she wasn't going to let him take over her life. She wasn't going to mourn him like he'd died - her life was still going on, and she needed to make sure she was a part of it as it went past. She joined the debate team, studied hard until she was in the top 5% of her class, and generally became the overachiever she'd always wanted to be. He wasn't always there, sitting beside her or singing along to the radio any more. 

But she still thought about him. 

It was a dark, cold evening at the end of a long, boring day. When Cheyenne had finally made it home and collapsed on her bed, she couldn't shake the urge to look into the box stuffed at the back of her closet. It was where she'd methodically packed all his belongings after a week, figuring 'out of sight, out of mind' probably applied, but knowing there was no way she could bring herself to actually part with his things. 

The khaki shirt she'd stolen (the first of many) still smelt like him, albeit faintly now. When she pressed her nose into the fabric, she could just make out the vague hints of his soap and aftershave. It was rough, masculine in every traditional way, and for some reason it was so incredibly comforting. His tattered copy of  _Slaughterhouse V_  practically fell apart in her hands when she pulled it out, and she had to put it down quickly just in case it spontaneously disintegrated. There were a few other things in there, like the bracelet he'd given her a few months after they'd seen each other 'as a good luck charm'. She wondered now, given what she knew about his life, if it was more powerful that. After a few moments of examining it, she decided to put it back in the bottom of the box, just in case.

There was a soft knock at her door, and she heard Jake's voice, startling her. "Hey, you wanna watch the game with me? I made popcorn." 

Ana had moved in with George a few months earlier, and Cheyenne had quickly found a willing replacement for her in Jake, who'd been eager to move in with a friend instead of searching for his own place. He made a relatively good roommate, despite the state he usually left his room in. Although to be fair, he did do his fair share of the chores around the rest of the apartment. 

"Sure, Jake." She called, closing the lid on the box of Dean's belongings. "I'll be right out. I just want to get changed into some sweats." 

He shuffled away, back towards the couch, and she heard the volume increase on the TV as the game started. Slowly, with a fond smile, she turned back to the box, her fingertips dancing over the top lightly before she grabbed it and put it back in the depths of her closet, where it had found a home. 

That was enough, she told herself.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a few months since Dean had tried to phone her and chickened out. After everything that had happened with John going missing, and bringing Sam back into Hunting, Dean hadn't honestly had a lot of time to think about her, except for the morning after one of his one night stands, where he felt the familiar pang of guilt and longing in his chest. 

He'd gone out on a coffee run and left Sam to find them a new job in the vicinity, and when he came back to the motel room, juggling a coffee cup tray in one hand and a bag of doughnuts in the other, his younger brother was hunched over his laptop, looking no more confident than he had done when Dean left. "No joy, I take it?"

"Not really." Sam murmured, accepting his cup of coffee and taking a sip. "I mean there are a few jobs that seem a little weird... But they could just be freak medical things."

"Such as?" Dean took the seat opposite him.

"Guy had two heart attacks on the way to hospital. EMT's were pretty baffled... A store clerk was shot twice at point blank range during a robbery and walked away... Two suicides on a College Campus..."

"Which campus?" Dean asked, taking a sip of his coffee. 

"Uh..." Sam clicked on the link to the news article. "Madison-Wisconsin."

An expression that Sam missed flickered across Dean's face, and he sat up straighter. "They name the victims?" 

"Yeah." Sam slid the laptop towards him before reaching over for his own doughnut. "They're both named in the article, have a look."

Dean read in silence, his coffee and doughnut sitting unfinished on the table beside him. Then, without warning, he slammed the lid of Sam's laptop closed and sprung to his feet. "Pack your stuff, we've got to head out."

Sam protested weakly, obviously confused by his brother's sudden interest in Wisconsin of all places, but Dean ignored him until they were on the road and heading to the college. 

"I knew them." He finally admitted. 

"The victims? How?"

Dean inhaled slowly, sucking air in through his teeth and clicking his tongue as his eyes darted from the road to the rearview mirror, to the side mirror and back to the road again. Anywhere but at his brother. "Friends of a friend."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "A friend? You? What happened to keeping people at arm's length?"

Dean's jaw locked in place, but he didn't respond. There wasn't much he could say. 

"Was it a girl?" Sam asked quietly, tentatively. It wasn't like Dean to get this attached to people he met on a case. When he didn't get a response, Sam tried again. "Dean?"

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" He snapped. A few seconds of silence passed, and he sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "I just... Need to see if they're okay."

"The... Victims?" 

"The  _friend_." Dean ground out, shooting his younger brother another glare. "What happened to you being the brains of the operation, huh?"


	15. Chapter 15

 

When Dean rolled over in bed, he was amazed to see her laying next to him, smiling gently. "Chey?"

"Hey baby..."

She was propped up on the pillows beside him in the dark motel, only illuminated by the faint light of the moon, with the rest of her face cast in deep shadow. In the darkness, Dean could make out what she was wearing - a simple white dress that he didn't recall ever seeing before. When she rolled onto her side, supporting herself with one arm, Dean watched her hair fall back over her shoulder, moving like rippling water. "How long have you been here?"

"A long time." She admitted, her hand slowly coming to rest on his chest, just above his heart. "But you were worth the wait."

Dean swallowed hard, eyes flickering across her face desperately as he tried to drink in every feature. She was beautiful. So beautiful it was almost as if she was swimming in front of him, like a mirage in the desert. When she smiled, it almost hurt. God, he'd missed that smile. 

Slowly, he leaned in, closing the gap between them. They were so close their noses almost brushed against each other when she whispered his name. "Dean..."

It felt good to hear her say his name again. He loved the way it sounded. 

"Dean..."

" _Dean_!"

He woke with a start, groaning and rubbing his eyes for a few seconds before looking around. He wasn't in a motel with Cheyenne. 

In fact, he wasn't even close to being in a motel with Cheyenne. He was in the passenger's seat of the Impala, leaning at an uncomfortable angle against the door that made his back ache, especially with the bumpy road. His brother was sat beside him, an eyebrow raised. "You wanted me to wake you up when we got to Madison, right?"

"Yeah." Dean groaned, straightening up in his seat and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Thanks. Pull over and I'll take over."

"You okay man? You were out for a while there."

"M'Fine." He mumbled, sitting back in his seat and sighing as he watched the scenery go past. "Just... Haven't been here in a while is all."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Even though it had been a year since he'd made the journey, Dean still had the route memorised. He barely even paid attention to where he was driving, it was he'd switched to autopilot and was just following an old memory. Sam stayed silent as they drove through Madison; he knew from the look on Dean's face that it just wasn't worth trying to ask about who they were driving to visit. He also decided it wasn't worth pressing him on what he'd been dreaming about during the drive; Sam had heard him mumbling in his sleep, he'd heard a name that he couldn't quite make out, but nothing more. 

When they pulled into the parking lot, Dean felt the now familiar nerves flutter in his stomach. They were the same nerves he'd felt every time he'd even gotten close to calling her and telling her he was sorry. They were the same nerves he'd felt when he'd had to walk away from her. 

_Get a grip of yourself, Winchester._

No woman had ever had this kind fo a hold on him. Never. He had no idea what it was about Cheyenne that he couldn't shake, but for some reason, despite everything that had happened, she was still there in the back of his mind. His dad had gone missing, he'd seen Sam again for the first time in two years, he'd had to be there for him while he grieved Jessica's death. Despite that, and all of the Hunting he'd done, she was still there. As if he didn't regret leaving enough, he had a constant reminder in the back of his head. 

"So, what's the plan?" Sam asked. 

"There is no plan." Dean murmured, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him with more force than was necessary. Sam followed a few feet behind him, letting him lead the way as the walked inside the apartment building and took the stairs to her door. 

Dean paused outside her door, fist raised. What if she'd moved on, found another guy, and _he_ answered the door instead? What if she threw something at him as soon as she saw him? What if she didn't even live here anymore?

"You going to knock?" Sam asked quietly from behind him. With a sigh, Dean followed through and knocked on the door sharply. It took a few moments, but they heard shuffling inside, and the lock slid back. After a second, the door opened. 

She was the one who answered, which was a good start. And her first reaction wasn't to throw something at him, which was even better. With that being said, she didn't exactly look thrilled to see him. "Dean?"

"Hey, Chey." He whispered, letting out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding in. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds after that, and he thought for a moment that she might have gone into shock. "How're you doing?"

"What are you doing here?" Her voice cracked a little. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying, and her hair was a mess. He recognised the sweatpants and huge t-shirt with stains that just refused to come out as the clothes she wore when she was in one of her particularly shitty moods, and it took every inch of his self control not to sweep her up into a hug there and then. 

"I read about what happened." Dean swallowed. "I came as soon as I heard."

"What, so you thought you could get some sympathy sex out of me?" She spat, her voice dripping with venom. The words stung, and he winced involuntarily at them, but a small part of him couldn't help but feel like he deserved it. 

"No." He said gently. "I was worried about you."

She drew in a shaky breath at that, white knuckling the edge of the door as she gripped onto it. It was like a part of her resolve had crumbled, and in a few seconds he saw her shoulders shake with a sob. Dean wasn't sure who made the move - whether he crossed the threshold to pull her into a hug or whether she threw herself at him - but the next thing he knew she was in his arms, sobbing into his chest. 

"It's okay." He whispered, soothing her gently as he cupped the back of her head. "I'm here, I've got you." 

She tried to say something past her sobs, something that he couldn't make out. He just shushed her gently, telling her that it was going to be okay, that he was there now. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam close the apartment door behind them awkwardly, and shot him a nod of thanks. 

"I j-just don't understand." She wailed into his chest. "I d-don't get why..."

"I know." Dean whispered, frowning as he held her close. "I'm so sorry." 

It took a few minutes, but her breathing calmed and her shoulders stopped shaking, and eventually she felt ready to pull away from him a little. Not enough to break away from his arms, Dean noticed.

"M'sorry." She mumbled, wiping her eyes and rubbing the tears from her cheek with the sleeve of her shirt. "I just..."

"It's okay." Dean assured her, pushing a stray strand of hair back from her face instinctively. "Don't worry."

Cheyenne blinked slowly, nodding. Then, when she looked away from him, she noticed Sam for the first time. "Oh..."

"Hi." Sam murmured from over by the kitchen counter, shooting her an uncomfortable smile. 

"You must be Sam." She returned the smile, although it seemed a little forced. "I... Kind of thought you'd shorter, given the way Dean talked about you."

"He has a habit of giving off that impression." Sam admitted, smiling gently before a line appeared between his brows. "The uh... The article I saw. Were those friends of yours?"

Her lower lip quivered, and Dean heard another shaky inhale, threatening to dissolve into tears again. She held her resolve this time, though. "Yeah, they were."

"I'm so sorry." Sam murmured, glancing between her and Dean. "I uh... I know what you're going through."

The three of them stood in awkward silence for a few minutes, until Cheyenne's manners took over. "I should make some coffee..." She mumbled, finally breaking away from Dean's grasp. "You still take it the same?"

Dean nodded, watching her carefully as she grabbed three mugs and started to make the coffee. Like on an instinct, Sam walked over to help her.  He watched the two of them for a few seconds, feeling for the edge of the EMF reader in his pocket. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom, I'll be back in a minute."

They murmured words of acknowledgement, and Dean turned to walk out of the room. 

"Do they um... Know why it happened?" Sam asked awkwardly. Probably not the best sentence to begin with, but she answered him nonetheless.

Cheyenne sighed, shaking her head. "No. They found... Ana... About five days ago in her apartment and um..." She inhaled slowly, her hand shaking as she poured some sugar into her mug. "They thing it... triggered what happened to Jake."

Sam frowned down at her as she continued to make the drinks, avoiding his gaze with expert tact. It was a lot to handle, losing two close friends in such a short space of time.

"Who did you lose?" Cheyenne asked quietly, after a few more moments of uncomfortable silence had passed. Sam looked over at her sharply, feeling a familiar burn rise in the back of his throat as he thought of Jessica. 

"My girlfriend, Jess." He said quietly. "There was a... Fire in our apartment."

A line appeared between Cheyenne's eyebrows as she looked up at him, gnawing on her lower lip. "I'm sorry. That must have been awful..."

"It was." He murmured, turning back to the mugs of coffee. "But I had Dean. He helped me through it, you know? I mean, he's my big brother. So we're... Roadtripping."

"Seen anything good?" She asked, trying to keep her tone light. He was about to respond when he saw Dean standing in the doorway, a stony expression on his face. Cheyenne followed his gaze and turned to Dean. "Everything okay?"

"Chey..." He frowned, tucking the EMF reader back into his pocket as he walked over. "Was... Were either of them in the apartment when it happened?" 

"Why?" She asked sharply. Dean exhaled slowly, pursing his lips so two dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. 

"It's important." He assured her. "Trust me."

"Ana had..." Cheyenne swallowed hard. "She'd just moved in with George like... Four months ago. Jake was living here with me."

"Did you find him?" Sam asked quietly from behind her. He'd seen the EMF reader in Dean's hand and knew exactly where the questions were headed. 

Cheyenne nodded silently, hugging her arms around herself defensively. Dean didn't have to ask her where; he'd spotted the wooden beam in the room Ana used to live in, and he knew exactly what had happened. 

"Why is this important?" Her voice cracked a little when she spoke. 

Sam opened his mouth to make an excuse, but Dean cut across him. "There are signs of a spirit here."

" _Dean_." Sam said sharply, staring at him in surprise. He was more surprised though, by Cheyenne's reaction. 

"Like... McGinley?" She asked quietly, sniffing. At Dean's nod she leaned back against the counter, her head in her hands. "Oh my God... You're saying something made them do this?"

"Or did it to them." He regretted the words as soon as they came out, as soon as he saw her face twist into a grimace as she lifted her head from her hands. "Sorry."

"S-so what does that mean?" Her voice shook as she looked between the brothers. Dean sighed, avoiding Sam's accusatory glare. 

"Means we're going to get you out of here. It's probably not safe for you to spend the night again." Dean cleared his throat. "If you pack some clothes Sam and I can drive you to a motel, get you set up in a room."

"I don't think that's a good idea." She said quietly, and Dean realised with a pang of guilt that she really hadn't forgiven him. Her head was a mess because of everything that had happened, but she still knew she didn't want to be around him, not really. She was still angry, or upset, or both. "I'll call George, ask if I can stay with him."

"Yeah, you're not going to do that." He responded with an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before. "There's a spirit circling around here, and so far it's targeted two of your friends. Like it or not, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

For a few seconds, it seemed as though she would argue, but she didn't. Maybe she understood where he was coming from - maybe she figured he actually had a point. Maybe she was just exhausted, after everything that had happened. Either way, with a defeated sigh, she mumbled something about packing a bag before walking past him and into her room. 

The brothers stood in silence after she walked out, but Dean could see Sam bristling beside him. "What?"

"She knows?" He asked, his mouth closing into one thin line. "She knows about everything?"

"Sam, don't start." Dean sighed, turning away from him. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy though, as Sam just side stepped around him to get back in his line of sight. 

"How long did you know this girl, huh?" He snapped. "I lied to Jess for  _two years_ , Dean. How long did you know this girl before you spilled all the family secrets?"

"I didn't  _spill all the family secrets_." Dean mimicked him. "I told her about it when she needed to know."

More like he told her about it when John forced him to.

"Dean, who the hell is this girl?" Sam asked in a hushed tone. "Seriously, I mean... We drive through the night to get here for her, and... Who is she? I mean, was she your _girlfriend_ or something?"

For a moment, he considered telling his brother everything. The months and months he'd spent with her, falling in love with her. The year he'd spent trying (and failing) to get over her. He didn't tell him that, of course. What came out was a much more sanitised version.

"Back in late '03 Dad and I worked a case here in Madison." He murmured, shrugging. "We'd been here a couple of days when I met Cheyenne and we... Hooked up. It was three weeks, it didn't mean anything. Just... Drop it."

Sam was about to respond to his brother when he caught sight of Cheyenne in the doorway behind them, a bag in her hand. "Hey."

 _God, please don't let her have heard that_. Dean span around to face her, and judging by the look on her face, the slight tremor in her hand, she'd heard every word. It had hurt him enough to tell the lie, but to think she'd actually heard it...

"We should go." She said quietly, clearing her throat and avoiding his gaze as she walked towards the front door and out into the corridor. The brothers followed her in silence, and none of them spoke as the drove towards the motel. The air was thick with tension, and Sam noticed that every time he glanced over at Cheyenne in the back seat, she was staring at the back of Dean's head, her body completely rigid. Dean, on the other hand was just avoiding making eye contact with anyone. 

Sam sighed, turning back to look out of the window as they approached the motel. It was going to be a long day.


	16. Chapter 16

Cheyenne slammed the motel room door behind her so hard Dean thought for a second it would break the windows, storming across the stained carpet towards him, her hands shaking with anger. "It was eight months."

"Excuse me?" Dean tried to play dumb, even though he knew it was probably a bad idea, given the way she was looking at him. He'd volunteered to check the room out for her before she'd gone in, just to make sure there were no problems, but partially so he could leave her alone with Sam for a few minutes, in the hopes that his younger brother could be something of a calming influence on her. He hadn't expected her to come barging in anyway, looking ready to murder him.

"It wasn't three weeks, Dean. It was eight months. Eight months of you showing up on my doorstep at two in the morning, of phone calls until four. And it meant  _a lot_."

He could feel the anger practically reverberating off her body, could hear it shaking in her voice. And she had every right to be angry with him, he knew that. Deep down, he understood. But there was a part of him, the same part that had pulled up to the side of the road that night and screamed up into the starless sky, the part that had sobbed against his steering wheel until he couldn't cry any longer, that wanted her to shut up. She had no idea how difficult it had been to walk away from her, to be the one to make that decision for  _her_  good. He was angry too, angry that the one sliver of light in an otherwise miserable life was ripped away from him because of Hunting. 

He couldn't bring himself to deny it. It had meant a lot. It had meant more to him than anything that had come before it, and anything that had followed. "I know you're angry..." He began, trying to keep his voice level, but she cut him off. 

"You  _know_  I'm angry?" She spat. "How? You don't  _know_  anything about me. I mean, how could you? All we had was a three week fling, and it  _meant nothing to you_ , right?"

Dean opened his mouth, tried to say something back, but she cut him off again. "God, you're such a selfish asshole. You think you can just show up here like this, drop back into my life after being gone for a year and pull that crap? I have to bury my best friends next week, you don't think that's hard enough without having you walk back into my life?"

Her anger was red hot, threatening to spill out of her eyes and send her into hysterics. But she wasn't going to cry in front of him, wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. She'd shed too many tears over him in the past year, there was no way she was going to cry in front of him over this.

In a few seconds, all of the anger seemed to dissipate, and it looked like she physically deflated in front of him from the strain of trying to keep from crying. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, and cracked a little."Get out. Do whatever it is you think you have to do here, and then leave."

When she met his gaze again she looked so defeated it hurt to watch. "Just go, please." 

He didn't argue. He couldn't, not really. When the door closed with a click behind him, Cheyenne sank onto the bed with her head in her hands, shaking uncontrollably. All of the anger, all those times she'd wanted to scream at him down the phone over the past year, it had all come out. And finally, she cried. She shed all the tears that had been threatening to come out, threatening to spill over. She cried herself into a restless sleep, curled up on the bed with her face buried into a musty pillow, while Dean sat sullenly in the other room, eyes unfocused as he let the sound of the television wash over him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She wasn't sure what exactly woke her up, but a few hours later Cheyenne was sat bolt upright in bed, the hairs on her forearms standing to attention. The room was dark, and she'd never put her contacts in that morning, so when she scanned the room all she could see was a dark blur. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It was the same feeling she'd had when she'd played bait to McGinley all those months ago with John, and instinctively, she reached for her cell phone on the nightstand, dialling the number Sam had given her earlier while Dean booked the rooms. 

It only rang a few times before he picked up. "Cheyenne? Everything okay?"

"I'm not sure..." She whispered, eyes narrowing a little as she turned the bedside lamp on. The light flickered on, revealing a dirty but empty room. She let out the breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding, feeling relief sweep over her. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" He asked hesitantly. 

"Yeah." Cheyenne swung her legs out of bed and stood up, stretching with a light groan. "I'm fine, Sam. I just... I felt like there was something in the room with me. It's nothing though, I'm probably just worked up because of everything that's happened recently."

"I think we should come check, just in case."

She wandered into the bathroom, tugging on the light cord before running a hand through her hair, waiting for it to come on. It flickered a few times, before eventually turning on properly. With a sigh, she opened her mouth to apologise for calling and hang up, but what she saw behind her in the mirror made her freeze. For a split second, she couldn't move, her limbs locked up just like they had done when she'd come face to face with McGinley. When she span around to look behind her, the room was empty, and when she turned back it had vanished from the mirror too. There was no sign there had been anyone - or any _thing_  - else in the room with her. 

The knocking at the door startled her, and she nearly dropped her cellphone before she realised it was Sam and Dean. She could hear their voices, they must have come over when she hadn't responded to Sam. By the time she got to the door, Dean was getting ready to try and kick it down, and when she pulled it open, they both had shotguns in hand. Dean's arm was around her in a second, scooping her out of the room and pulling her behind Sam, before ducking into the room with his gun in hand to check if there was anything still inside. 

"What happened?" Sam asked, checking to make sure she was still behind him. "Did you see something?"

"Something in the mirror." She whispered. "I don't know... It kind of... It looked like... Jesus Christ, it looked like the girl from  _The Ring_ , Sam."

"I'm getting readings." Dean called. "Man, whatever was in here was  _pissed_." 

His words sent a shiver down Cheyenne's spine, and she stepped back into the room tentatively, looking around as if the spirit was about to reappear in the corner. "What now?" 

"Well, it proves that the spirit isn't tied to the house." Sam's voice was gentle when he spoke. "It followed you all the way here, which means that until we figure out what this thing is, it's going to be difficult to hide you from it. We'll stay with you tonight, keep watch. We might have to do it in shifts, if the two of you can handle that." 

Cheyenne and Dean cast each other surly looks before she gave a hesitant nod. "Okay."

"I'll take first watch." Dean offered, already making his way towards the chair in the corner of the room. "If that freak comes back I'll blast it full of rock salt." 

Sam turned to Cheyenne, almost doe-eyed. "If you need anything, just call my cell-phone, okay? Anything at all." 

"Okay." She murmured, closing the door behind him. "Thanks, Sam."

When she turned back to the room, Dean was glaring at her, eyebrows knitted together in a grimace. She was too tired for another argument, and instead she made her way across the room to grab some clothes to sleep in. "Not right now, Dean." She sighed. When she looked back up, his expression hadn't changed but he was on his feet, shotgun discarded onto the armchair. "Dean..."

"No, you got your moment to yell at me, now I think I deserve mine." He said, his tone clipped and cold. At least he wasn't screaming at her. Yet. "You're pissed at me because I ended things, and I get that. And sure, I should have been upfront with Sam about us, but you don't get to throw it in my face that  _'I don't know you'_. It's bullshit." 

She scoffed, folding her arms, and an expression flickered across his face that she couldn't quite place in the dim lighting. It hurt him, the fact that she thought what they'd had was just a meaningless fling. It hurt him more that she didn't know exactly how much time he'd spent pining for her. "I know a damn sight more about you thank you think."

When she didn't respond, Dean took a few steps closer until there were only a few inches separating them. "I know that when you're sick you eat Campbell's chicken soup because soup was the only thing you knew how to make as a kid."

His voice had lost the cold edge now, his facial expression had softened slightly. "I know that your favourite thing to do on a Friday night is curl up in bed and watch  _Columbo._  I know the only song that makes you cry is  _Cigarettes and Coffee_ by Otis Redding, and you've got no idea why, you just can't stop yourself." A soft, sad smile danced over his lips, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. 

"I know you don't like flowers in the house, because they make you think of funerals. But you like sunflowers. They're the only ones you'll have. You had a bunch of them on your windowsill in this tiny little copper watering can thing." By now, his voice was shaking with emotion, and when she could finally bring himself to look at her his pupils were blown wide, leaving only a tiny sliver of green visible. 

"I know that I haven't been able to get you out of my head for a whole year, no matter how hard I try. I know that every woman I've met since has been like a ghost of you. Sometimes they'd come close, sometimes they were good, but they were never enough."

He was rambling now, tripping over his words as he tried to get them out, desperate to tell her everything that had been bottled up for almost a year. As hard as he tried to keep it at bay, a little bit of the anger he'd kept bottled up crept back into his voice too, until he sounded like he was on the verge of breaking down into tears. "I know that when I'm driving late at night, I swear to God, I can see you riding next to me. And if you think this past year hasn't hurt me as much as it's hurt you then you're wrong. Because I had to walk away from the only good thing that's happened to me in years, and I had to make you hate me to do it. You don't think that broke my heart, walking away from you like that? I was  _in love with you_ , Cheyenne." 

His words hung in the air between them, and for a few seconds neither of them could speak. It was the first time Dean had ever said those words to another person, and it was the first time she'd heard them. A lump which was threatening to dissolve into tears clogged the back of Cheyenne's throat as she eventually tried to argue back. None of what he'd said changed the fact that he had walked out. "You  _left_." She croaked, fully aware of how pathetic she sounded. "You just left me." 

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, his throat closing up as he saw tears spill out of her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and splashing onto her shirt. "I never wanted to hurt you. God, I never wanted to leave, Chey. I loved you. I..." The words hitched in his throat, just like they had done every time he'd tried to tell her before. "I still do."

"Then why leave?" She croaked. Dean sighed, closing his eyes for a few seconds. 

"You were in danger. The first time we met, I was hunting Vampires. We didn't... Take out of the whole nest, must have left a few survivors. They found out who you were. Who you were to me. We found out about them before they could do anything, but when we caught up to them..." He still shuddered when he thought about how close they'd come to killing her. "When we caught up to them they were outside your apartment building. They were waiting for you, Cheyenne. I couldn't take that risk again, couldn't put you in danger like that again. I had to leave." 

For a few seconds she didn't respond. Maybe she couldn't come up with the right words. Eventually, she managed to say something. "You didn't... you didn't want to?"

"God no." He breathed, feeling that same familiar ache in his chest when he thought about that phone call. "It was the last thing I wanted to do." 

For a few seconds it almost seemed like she was weighing this new information in her head, evaluating it and testing it for bullshit. When after a few moments she didn't throw him out of the room, Dean felt safe enough to reach out and gently cup her cheek, his thumb smearing away the last traces of tears on her skin. "I've done some difficult things in my life," he whispered. "But leaving you? That killed me." 

"I missed you so much, Dean..." Her voice was barely audible, even though their heads were inches from each other. Slowly, he closed the gap until their foreheads were practically touching, until their noses grazed up against one another. 

"I've missed you too." He whispered, before pressing his lips to hers in the kiss he'd craved for over a year. "So much, Chey."

When her lips touched his, and felt her fingers sink into his hair, and her chest was against his, Dean was gone. Nothing in the past year could compare to this feeling. Nothing. As he kissed her feverishly, his grip on her waist tightening as he pulled her flush against him, Dean realised exactly what being with her felt like. 

It felt like coming home.


	17. Chapter 17

Cheyenne smelt like summer. 

It had taken him a long time to place that particular smell, it was one he'd struggled to put his finger on the first time he'd woken up in her apartment, but as they lay together in the motel room, he finally figured it out. She smelt fruity and exotic and sweet all at the same time, from the coconut in her hair to the mango body wash that still lingered on her skin. It was so sweet that it could have made his head spin as he laid there, just listening to her breathing. 

"Was this a mistake?"

Neither of them had spoken for such a long time that Dean had assumed she'd fallen asleep. She was laying with her head on his chest, her hand splayed out just above his heart. It was a familiar, warm weight against his body that he'd missed. 

Dean paused, uncertain of how to answer her. "Do you regret it?"

"No." The answer was instantaneous. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't a mistake."

"Then what makes it a mistake?"

She paused, thinking about it for a moment before responding. "Are you going to leave again?"

"I don't want to." He whispered, his fingertips grazing her shoulder lightly. "But I don't want to put you in danger, Chey."

She raised her head a little, sitting up so that she could look at him, and in the semi-darkness of the room he could just make out her eyes, shining a little brighter than normal. "Looks like I'm in danger whether or not you're around, though."

That was true, as much as he hated to admit it. Dean didn't want to entertain the thought of what could have happened if he and Sam hadn't shown up. And he was too late to help Ana and Jake. Maybe if he'd still been around, maybe if he'd still kept an eye on the three of them, they'd all still be alive...

"I just don't understand..." Cheyenne whispered, and he heard a sniff. "Why them?"

Dean reached up with one hand to smear away the tear he saw splash across her cheek, sighing. There was no answer that he could give her that would make her feel better. No answer that could bring her any kind of comfort. Either her friends were targeted, which would imply they did something that warranted getting hunted down by a ghost, or they were random victims of a lost and wandering angry spirit. Neither of those answers would help her. 

"I don't know." He whispered. It wasn't a lie. 

The papers had been vague about the cause of death, and when he'd first seen Ana and Jake's names he'd only been able to think about getting to Cheyenne, making sure she was okay. The more he'd thought about it though, the more suspicious it seemed. Two people, who were close friends, who died in exactly the same way? 

He hadn't wanted it to be a case. A big part of him just wanted it to be a tragedy, but not a supernatural one. He didn't want to have to consider the fact that something evil was circling her, but as soon as he saw the EMF spike, Dean couldn't deny it any longer. 

"What do we do now?" She croaked. 

"Well, now it's a job." Dean said quietly. "And I have to treat it like one. Which means we have to figure out which spirit is haunting you, find the bones and burn them."

"That sounds simple enough." 

"Except we have no idea who's spirit it is that's doing the haunting." He pointed out softly, stroking her hair back from her face with his fingertips, allowing them to rest gently on the apple of her cheek for a second. "That'll be the hard part."

Cheyenne's mouth opened, but for a moment it was like she couldn't speak, could articulate what she really wanted to say. In honesty, her head was a mess of emotions. There was a part of her head that was still screaming, still sobbing just like she'd done when George had called to tell her he'd discovered Ana's body. There was a part of her that was still trapped in the panic she'd felt when she'd walked into Jake's room to find his lifeless body. There was a part of her that was still whirring, still going over all of her academic responsibilities - that was the part of her brain that was desperately trying to pretend everything was fine, and nothing had changed. 

That was all without factoring Dean into the equation. 

No-one had made her feel this safe before. For as long as she could remember, at least part of her had been on edge, been nervous, or even been downright terrified. She'd been terrified of her father, living in fear of incurring some kind of punishment for even the most innocuous of mistakes, even when she was 2000 miles away at college. Even in the safety of her own home, in a good neighbourhood and an apartment she shared with a friend, Cheyenne had been scared of him. 

Dean had a way of making that fear melt away. She couldn't really describe it, but she knew that as soon as he pulled her into his arms, as soon as she felt his lips press to her temple, she finally felt safe. There was a lot she hadn't told him about - he didn't know about the nightmares, or the anxiety, or the baseball bat that lived under her bed  _just in case_. But somehow, when she could feel his arms around her, could hear his breath in her ear, could smell the engine oil and whiskey on his clothes,  _somehow_  she felt safer. It was only ever a temporary fix, of course. But it was a fix of sorts. 

Being abandoned had hurt. Even if (as she now knew) it was for her own good, waking up alone that first morning after he'd driven off had hurt her in a way she hadn't ever predicted. Over the year, though, she'd managed to convince herself that things were going to be fine, that she could manage without him. She'd been right - the nightmares weren't as bad any more, she was on medication for the anxiety, and she no longer double checked that the bat was within grabbing distance at night. But it wasn't the same as when she had him with her. Seeing him again had made all of those emotions flood back in a way she wasn't prepared for, especially with everything he'd told her in the past few hours. 

"What is it?" Dean asked, his voice soft as he stroked her cheek, almost as if he could see her struggling. 

"I'm scared." She finally settled on. It summed up her feelings well enough for the time being. 

Dean sat up too, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Chey." 

"What if you can't find out who it is?" She whispered, feeling hot tears clog her throat again for what seemed like the millionth time that day. "I can't run forever, you heard Sam. This thing isn't attached to anything specific, I mean it found me here and-"

He shushed her gently, pressing his lips to her temple as his arms tightened around her. "Listen to me baby. I'm not going to let a god damn thing happen to you, okay? I don't care what that thing is, it's not going to hurt you. You've got me and Sam looking out for you." 

"Okay." She whispered, but they both knew that it wasn't, not really. For a while they just sat there like that, resting against the headboard of the bed, neither speaking until eventually Dean felt her breathing even out and she went slack against him. He eased her into a more comfortable position, and it didn't take long for him to fall asleep too, his arms still wrapped around her. 

 

* * *

 

They woke the next morning to a knock at the door, and for a few seconds they just stared at each other in wordless confusion. The knocking continued, and it was soon joined by Sam's voice. "Anyone awake in there?"

"Oh shit." They both hissed, flying out of bed in search of clothes. They'd both forgotten Sam was supposed to stay for half the night and watch her while Dean slept in their room, and when Cheyenne opened the door to him, she really hoped her expression didn't read 'I just totally nailed your brother last night, and it was amazing'. 

"Morning. I went on a coffee run." Sam held up the coffee cup tray in one hand. "And got doughnuts." When he held up the other hand, Cheyenne saw he was holding a bag from Dunkin' Donuts. His tone gave nothing away, but when Dean joined her at the door, Cheyenne saw the glint in the younger Winchester's eye. 

"Thanks." She said, offering a shy smile. She didn't even want to think about the state they looked at that moment. 

"Awesome!" Dean, on the other hand, had no shame at all as he reached for the bag of doughnuts, a huge grin on his face. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam passed Cheyenne the coffee with a wry smile. "I'll leave the two of you to get dressed, and then we should probably get to work." 

"Aw man, French Cruller." Dean groaned, peeking inside the bag as Cheyenne shut the door behind Sam. "My favourite. Oh sweet, he got jelly doughnuts too." 

By the time Cheyenne had set the coffees on the nightstand, Dean already had half a doughnut in his mouth, groaning around it like something out of a porno as strawberry jelly leaked onto his chin. "You know you're obscene, right?"

"Wha'?" Dean mumbled past his mouthful of food, passing her the bag. 

"Don't worry." She laughed, taking a more civilised bite out of her own doughnut and sipping her coffee as she watched him. Although he'd thrown on a pair of jeans to cover his dignity before going to the door, he'd forgone the shirt. "You're getting powdered sugar on your chest, you know."

The rest of the doughnut disappeared into his mouth as Dean looked down at himself, barely managing to mumble an 'oops'. With a laugh, Cheyenne beckoned him closer. "Jesus Christ, come here." 

Dean obeyed, chewing and swallowing what still seemed like a painfully large amount of food as he got close to her. Forcing him to bend down a little to her height, Cheyenne swiped the smear of strawberry jelly from his chin with her index finger before putting it in her mouth and licking it clean. Dean grinned as he watched her, cocking his head in interest. "Remind me to buy jelly doughnuts more often."

She snorted. "You're aware you lose an awful lot of sex appeal when I have to watch you eat like a five year old, right?"

Dean mimicked her good-naturedly, shooting her another grin as he reached into the bag for a French Cruller.

 

* * *

 

After some discussion, Sam and Dean decided that easiest way to go about finding out which particular spirit was currently on a rampage was to start researching all of the deaths that matched the circumstances Ana and Jake had been found in. While Dean posed as an FBI agent, Sam agreed to keep an eye on Cheyenne, and after they were dropped off at the college campus, the two headed for the library. 

"How are you doing?" Sam asked, holding the door open for her when they stepped into the foyer. "I know this has all got to be a lot to process." 

"It is." She admitted, sighing. "I don't know, I think there's still a part of me that doesn't believe it's real."

"I felt the same way after Jess." He said quietly. "It didn't seem completely real until after the funeral." 

"Ana's funeral is next week." Cheyenne frowned. "Down in Austin. Her parents claimed the body the day before I found Jake... I think his parents are taking him back to Maine, but they haven't set a funeral yet."

"I don't know if it makes it better or worse that this wasn't their... Choice." Sam tried to choose his words carefully, shooting her an uncertain glance as he spoke. For a few seconds, she considered it, frowning. 

"Honestly, I don't know. I mean, on the one hand..." She trailed off, sighing as she shook her head. "No. I don't think it does. I just don't want to think about it happening to them."

"Of course you don't." Sam said quickly, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything." 

"Don't apologise." She put a hand on his forearm lightly, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's okay."

For a few seconds they stood there like that, just staring at each other wordlessly, before Sam spotted someone approaching them from behind Cheyenne. When she saw him looking, she turned, and recognised a slightly disheveled looking George, shuffling towards them with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants. 

"George..." She whispered, closing the few feet between them and hugging him tightly. He smelt like stale alcohol and sweat, and when she pulled back from the hug a little she could see his eyes were bloodshot, and his dishwater-blond hair was slick with days of grease. For a moment she thought about commenting on it, asking him when he'd last showered, but she thought better of it. "How're you holding up?" 

He shrugged wordlessly, casting Sam an uncertain glance over her shoulder. "Who's that?"

"Sam." Cheyenne glanced back to look at the taller man. "He's uh... He's Dean's brother."

"Yeah." George grunted. "Saw you get dropped off on campus in the Impala. So he's back then?"

His tone was cold, bordering on accusatory, and it made Cheyenne a little uncomfortable. "He heard about what happened and wanted to make sure I was okay."

"I'm sure he did." George snorted, rolling his eyes. To be fair, his scepticism wasn't entirely unwarranted - Ana and Jake and both been very vocal about their dislike of Dean after he'd walked out on Cheyenne, and she assumed that had discoloured George's opinion of him somewhat. Nonetheless, she could almost  _feel_  Sam bristling behind her at the words. 

"It's the truth, George." She said gently. "Listen, why don't we get you home, get you into a shower, make you something to eat and let you get some rest? You don't... You don't look so good." 

He slapped away the comforting hand she was reaching out with, curling his lip. "Of course I don't _look so good_. My girlfriend is dead, Cheyenne. Your best friend."

"George, you need to sleep." She said quietly, shooting Sam a worried glance. "You look exhausted."

"I _can't_ sleep!" He snapped. "You don't understand!"

"Well then try and make me understand." She pressed gently, sighing. "I hate seeing you like this..."

For a few seconds, it was like he couldn’t find the words he wanted, his eyes darting from her face to Sam’s almost feverishly. Finally he spoke, but when the words came out he ducked his head a little to avoid her gaze, looking almost sheepish. “I get... nightmares.” 

“Nightmares?” She echoed, frowning. “Like what?”

”They’re just dumb nightmares.” He mumbled, sighing. “I feel like I can see someone at the foot of the bed, watching me sleep. At first... at first I thought it was Ana but...”

”But what?” She prompted gently, casting Sam a concerned frown. 

“It’s not her. It’s some other girl just... staring at me. She’s got this long black hair, covers most of her face, and she’s super pale... kind of like that thing from The Grudge.”

Cheyenne could have sworn her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, and in an instant she felt her hands go clammy. When she looked over at Sam beside her, she realised he looked how she felt: they were both thinking the same thing. 

George had seen the same spirit that had visited her the night before.

 

* * *

 

 

Making sure George got home safely was the top priority for Cheyenne, so she and Sam agreed to walk him back to his parents' house before they called Dean. She'd suggested taking him back to his apartment at first, but at the violent shake of his head, they decided it was probably easier for him to be at his parents'. They were away for the month, but had agreed to cut their trip to Hawaii short to come home and be with their son. When they helped him up the stairs he informed them his parents would be home in 'maybe a few days', just in time for the funeral.

While Sam fixed him a sandwich in the kitchen, Cheyenne stripped George down to his boxers and all but forced him into the shower, leaning against the sink while she waited for him to give himself the slowest wash ever. They didn't talk, could barely even make eye contact with one another, but they didn't need to. They were both thinking about Ana. 

Eventually, George was clean and had eaten, and Cheyenne eased him into bed, trying to be as soothing as possible as she pulled the covers around him. "You'll feel better after a decent rest." 

"You know I won't." He mumbled, eyes already closed. She knew it was a lie, that nothing was going to be able to make him feel better for a long time, but maybe this would be a start. She knew how he was feeling - that gut wrenching, nausea inducing pain from somewhere deep inside that made it damn near impossible to even roll out of bed. It had taken her four days to even change out of her shitty sweatpants and oversized t-shirt after George had told her about Ana, and even then it had only because Jake had all but gotten down on his hands and knees and begged her to take care of herself. 

 _Jake_. 

Cheyenne's hands trembled on the covers as she pulled them up around George's shoulders as she thought about Jake, about his dumb, goofy smile and his unruly mess of curly black hair that no amount of hairspray and flat ironing could control (she and Ana had tried in vain multiple times, just to see what he would look like with a Beatles-style fringe.) 

He was the first person she'd met at College, besides her roommate (who she'd hated, and learned quickly to avoid). They'd both shown up late to the introductory lecture - he'd overslept and she'd gotten lost. After frantically wandering the halls of the department, Cheyenne had nervously asked him if he was looking for the same lecture theatre as her, and he'd almost cried with joy when he'd realised he wasn't the  _only_  lost Freshman in the corridor. 

They'd stuck together like lost puppies after that - both terrified of straying more than a few feet from the other for weeks - and it hadn't taken long for them to find Ana. The three of them were inseparable for the whole of Freshman year (partially out of fear, but mostly because they enjoyed each others' company), and Cheyenne was relieved to discover they were all just as close through Sophomore and Junior year, even after Ana moved out of their apartment and into a little place just off campus with George. 

Cheyenne had never been sure if Jake was the smartest idiot she'd ever met, or just the dumbest genius she'd ever stumbled upon. There was something instantly lovable about him; everyone commented on it. Whether it was the boyish, oddly charming grin that he flashed anybody who came near him, or his defensiveness about Maine's lack of tourist attractions, or even just his unfaltering manners that made him the perfect gentleman, there was something about Jake that everyone could love. 

And she had loved him. He'd been her best friend, her brother. He'd been there for her when she'd cried over Dean, he'd promised to marry her if they hit thirty and were both single. He'd threatened to find Dean ("wherever that handsome piece of shit is") and punch him for her. When he moved into Ana's old room he'd sometimes brought her food without even her even asking for it, on nights where she'd been cooped up at her desk without moving for hours on end. He'd just enter her room, leave her a plate and leave without a word, only coming back a few hours later to take the empty plate, give her a quick hug, and leave her to study. 

When Cheyenne backed out of George's room, closing the door with a gentle  _click_  behind her, there were tears in her eyes again. Her heart felt like it was three times too big for her chest, and as she leaned back against the door, her head tilted to the ceiling, her vision blurred as the lump in her throat dissolved, causing a strangled gasp that turned into a sob. A few minutes later, when Sam came upstairs to find her, she'd slid down the wall and collapsed against it, her knees pulled tightly to her chest and one hand over her mouth to try and force herself to stop crying. It was no use, he could still see tears streaming down her face as she rocked back against the wooden panelling of the wall. 

Sam didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Instead, he sat down beside her, stretching one arm out against the wall in a wordless offer of a hug, which she accepted, leaning into him heavily as she sobbed. They sat like that together, with Sam rubbing comforting circles into her arm with his thumb as she cried, her face buried into his chest as her shoulders heaved. Eventually, she pulled away from him, trying to steady her breathing as the sobs subsided.

"I'm sorry..." She whimpered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. 

"Don't apologise." He said softly, pulling his arm back a little and letting his hand rest on his thigh. "I get it, sometimes you just need to let it all out."

"We met yesterday and I've already snotted all over your t-shirt." She mumbled, the tips of her ears turning red as she blushed. Sam looked down at the wet stains on his grey t-shirt and shrugged, shooting her a warm smile. 

"Still not as bad as Dean when he's drunk. He's a drooler." 

She giggled at that. It was tearful and strained from tears, but it was a laugh, and that was enough for him. Sam stood up, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. "You think your friend will be okay?"

"I told him to call me when he wakes up." She said quietly, following him downstairs. "But I think he'll just sleep for the rest of the day."

Sam nodded, waiting by the door for her while she grabbed her jacket from the coat hooks in the hallway and pulled it on. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder to zip the jacket up though, Sam caught sight of the dark purple mark just below her jaw, standing out across her skin, and he couldn't help but chuckle. He'd never figured Dean for the possessive type when it came to women, but clearly his relationship with Cheyenne was far from average. 

She heard the laugh. "What?"

"Oh uh..." Sam shot her an embarrassed smile before motioning to the spot below his own jaw, indicating where the mark was on her neck. "Dean uh... Left you a gift last night I guess." 

"What?" Cheyenne shot him a confused look, turning to the hallway mirror to check. "No he didn't."

"It... looks like he did." 

Cheyenne stared at herself in the mirror, a line appearing between her brows as she traced the mark with her index finger. "Sam, Dean didn't do this to me."

He mirrored her facial expression as she turned back to him. "What do you mean?"

"That mark wasn't there when I got dressed this morning. I was looking at myself in the mirror for like 20 minutes when I put makeup on, I would have noticed it."

"You're sure Dean didn't do that?" He asked, confused. If he wasn't responsible, then what the Hell was?

"I'm positive." She said quietly, glancing back in the mirror to give it another look. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"How are you holding up?" Dean asked quietly, his lips pressed to her temple. After finishing up at George's house, Cheyenne and Sam had called him and told him to meet them at a nearby diner so they could regroup and figure out what was going on. While Sam had gone to the bathroom, Dean had wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close. In truth, he was as much comforting himself as he was comforting her; he was savouring every second of contact with her he could get, even if it had to be a few stolen moments at a time. 

Cheyenne traced the lines of the red bracelet on her wrist with her index finger lazily, frowning at it as she thought about everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours alone. "I don't know." She finally admitted, sighing. 

"Still scared?" He asked quietly. 

"Yes." Her voice was quiet, and when she spoke she made sure to stare intently at the bracelet to avoid even risking eye contact. 

"This is nice." He said quietly, his fingertips ghosting over hers as he touched the bracelet on her wrist, the one that seemed to have her undivided attention. "New?"

"It was a present." She mumbled, pulling her hand away and sliding it onto her lap under the table, out of his grasp, which he obviously noticed. As a compromise, she laced the fingers of her other hand with his, squeezing tightly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

The bracelet was from Ana. It wasn't a particularly special gift, in fact it was more like a hand-me-down than anything. While going through her jewellery box in her new apartment, Ana had a clear out and offered Cheyenne the red bracelet. Actually, she'd just tied the bracelet around her wrist one morning while they were drinking coffee together, informing her that it was now hers. It was nothing special or flashy, just a simple red string bracelet with a large wooden bead  in the centre, decorated with a single nondescript flower. But Ana had given it to her on one of the last times Cheyenne had seen her, and since she'd died, she refused to take it off. There was something incredibly personal about it that she couldn't describe if she tried - all she knew was, not only did she not want to talk to Dean about the bracelet, but she didn't want him to touch it. She didn't want to share one of her last connections to Ana, not even with him. 

Dean didn't have time to question it though, because only a few seconds later Sam had joined them in the booth, murmuring something about ordering food. That distracted him, and in a few seconds the brothers were bickering good-naturedly over what the best food on the menu was, and Cheyenne could let their voices just was over her as she leaned into Dean's shoulder. She was so emotionally exhausted by everything that had happened over the past few weeks that all she wanted to do was sleep, right there and then. 

Her relaxation was interrupted fairly quickly, though, when the waitress came over to ask if they were ready to order. Dean ordered the biggest brunch platter they did, while Sam went for a more sensible meal of eggs and toast. When the waitress turned to her, Cheyenne just ordered a coffee, waving away Dean's insistence that she should eat something. 

"I'm not hungry, Dean." She said quietly, resting her head back on his shoulder as the waitress walked off. "I had two doughnuts for breakfast, remember?"

"Yeah, but that was like... Four hours ago." The arm around her shoulder tightened just a little as he gave her a squeeze. "Are you sure?"

"M'Fine." She murmured, looking over the table to Sam. "We should probably get back to work, fill each other in."

"You guys found something out?" Dean asked, looking between them as Cheyenne sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears and flipping her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck. 

"Sort of." Sam murmured. "We think George, Ana's boyfriend, had the same... experience Cheyenne did last night. Mentioned a dream of a woman standing over his bed."

"So the spirit could be circling two people..." Dean nodded slowly in agreement. "Okay. Anything else?"

In response, Cheyenne turned to face him, tilting her head up a little to reveal the mark below her jaw. Dean spotted it instantly, an eyebrow cocked in confusion. "I didn't -"

"We know." Sam said quickly, interrupting him. "But I have a theory about it."

"You do?" Cheyenne settled into her position tucked into the crook of Dean's neck. The younger Winchester nodded slowly, gnawing on his lower lip. 

"Yeah... But I don't think you're gonna like it."

"What is it?" 

Sam sighed. "Well, think about the way Ana and Jake died... We think the spirit is killing people in the same way it died, right?"

"Yeah..." She nodded slowly, a line appearing between her eyebrows when she realised what Sam meant. "Oh..."

"I think that looks a lot like a bruise from a rope." Sam murmured, shooting her a sympathetic frown. 

"Like a spiritual warning." She sighed, touching two fingers to the bruise lightly. "Fantastic."

Dean's grip on her shoulder tightened again, and he didn't relax it even after the food arrived. He opted to eat one handed instead, only pausing every few minutes to offer her a bite, which she refused. She wasn't hungry. 

Instead, all she could think about was the figure she'd seen behind her in the mirror the night before. Those dead, bleak eyes and that deathly pale skin. It all looked familiar, (and not just like a creature from a film) but she couldn't place where from. 

With a sigh, Cheyenne reached for her coffee, drinking it in silence as the boys ate.


	18. Chapter 18

After eating, Dean decided it was time to get back to work. While posing as an FBI agent he'd manage to gather a collection of files on potential suspects who were listed with the cause of death as 'hanging'. He dropped the file on the table in front of them with a heavy sigh, but before he could speak Cheyenne had already leaned forward to look at it. 

"This is a big list." She said quietly, flipping through the pages. 

"Well, what ought to make it faster is that you guys probably have some kind of connection to the spirit." Dean leaned forward too, resting his elbows on the table as she started to look through the list of names, scanning down them with surprising speed. "See any names you recognise?"

She made a familiar movement of the wrist - not quite flicking him away, but enough to silence him. It was a non-verbal command he'd learned pretty quickly after spending time with her while she was studying. It meant _I'm concentrating, and if you make me look up from this page I'm not going to be happy._  Dean shut his mouth obediently, looking up just in time to catch Sam's smile. When his younger brother caught him looking, the smile disappeared, but Dean knew exactly what he was thinking. At some point, Sam was going to want the truth about his relationship with Cheyenne. 

Cheyenne's finger stopped about halfway down one of the pages, and her body stiffened as she exhaled slowly.  _Of course_. 

"Chey?" Dean had noticed the change in her posture. She was leaning back from the page a little, her eyes widened as she stared down at the list. "What is it?"

_How could you be so fucking stupid, Cheyenne?_

Of course she felt like she'd seen the spirit behind her in the mirror before. She'd seen that face so many times through Freshman and Junior year she  _should_  have known it instantly. That greasy hair that hung limply around her shoulders, those cold, lifeless eyes? 

"I know that name." She croaked, jabbing her finger at a name about halfway down the list. "Jesus, I should have figured out straight away..."

"Who is it?" Dean leaned over to check the list. Eloise Baker, not a name he remembered from the time he'd spent at the College the year before. 

"Eloise. She was a local girl. She was..." Cheyenne sighed heavily, her finger sliding from the page as her hand fell back to her lap. "I mean I guess she was nice enough, but she was just kind of... weird, you know? Always a little too pushy, always a little  _too_  friendly? She kind of... weirded everyone out."

"Were you friends with her?" Sam asked. 

"God no." She shook her head, frowning. "She was in some of my classes in Freshman year. She had this fixation with Ana - she was convinced she and Ana were like best friends or something. She  _hated_  me, because Ana and I ended up living together in Sophomore year. I mean, she wasn't exactly nice to Ana for a while after that, but 'forgave her' after a while, and went back to being obsessed with her. To tell you the truth, it kind of freaked her out."

"I think I remember you telling me about this girl." Dean nodded slowly, recognition blossoming on his face. "Didn't she have some problem with Jake, too?"

"Uh, yeah. He got on the debate team in Freshman year, which is one of the reasons Jake and I ended up becoming such good friends with Ana. She didn't get on, even though she tried out for it at the same time, and I guess... Kind of held a grudge after that..." Cheyenne frowned, shrugging lamely. 

"What happened to her?" Sam pressed gently. 

"She died at the end of Junior year." Cheyenne's voice was quiet. "I mean, no one really saw it coming, but everyone thought it was the pressure of college, because her parents were these big academic types. But I don't know, maybe it was more?" She met their gaze for a few seconds, looking guilty. "I don't think she had a huge amount of friends, to tell you the truth. We all _tried_ to be friendly with her, but I guess... We didn't try hard enough." 

"You can't blame yourself for that." Sam's voice was low, barely above a whisper. Dean recognised the soft tone he was using, so syrupy sweet that he'd actually seen victims tear up at it before. "What happened to her wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known it was going to happen."

"Guess not." She whispered. "Guess it doesn't really matter any more."

"Do you know where she was buried?" Dean asked, frowning. It wasn't a sensation he could easily describe, but he hated seeing her like this. He'd give almost anything to go back to the year before, curled up in bed with her on a lazy Saturday afternoon without a care in the world while they watched crappy TV and ate Pizza. 

"Cremated. Her parents scattered the ashes out on the East Coast somewhere. I forget where..." She trailed off for a moment, before realisation dawned on her. "Oh no... The bones..." 

"Yeah." Dean murmured darkly. "The bones."

"Well if you can't salt and burn them then what are we supposed to do?" She looked between the two brothers, now sat up even straighter in her seat. For the first time since they'd sat down in the diner, Dean could hear a trace of panic in her voice, a trace of the fear she'd mentioned creeping into her tone. 

"Something has to be tying her spirit here. It would be something of some significance, and it would probably have to be quite close to the area." Sam explained, still in that same gentle, soothing tone that seemed to calm her a little. "Can you think of anything?"

"Sam, I really didn't know her all that well." Cheyenne sighed, reaching for her cellphone in her pocket when she felt it vibrating. "Hang on a second. It's George..." 

When she answered the phone, Cheyenne was met with panicked, heavy breathing that almost sounded muffled, like there was a hand over George's mouth. "George, everything alright?"

"Cheyenne..." His voice came out as a low, hoarse moan. "Oh my God... I saw her again... The girl. She was standing right over my fucking bed. Jesus, fuck!" 

Cheyenne instantly felt a surge of guilt for leaving him alone in the house, and cast the brothers a worried look before answering him. "You still see her?"

"What? No, of course not. It's just... Fuck, it felt so real, you know?"

 _That's because it is_. 

"George, just hang on, okay? We're going to come back to your house, stay with you for a little while." She promised, already on her feet. "We'll only be a few minutes. I promise." 

Not even bothering to wait for a response, she hung up the phone and motioned for the Winchesters to join her, which they did. "C'mon, George just saw Eloise again."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Impala had barely pulled up to the sidewalk before she'd hopped out of the car, earning her a disgruntled _"Chey!"_ from Dean. She was already up the stairs and pushing the door open before Dean had managed to clamber out of the car and slam the door behind him, and by the time the brothers got inside the house she was halfway up the staircase, calling George's name. 

" _Cheyenne_!" Dean hissed, following her up the stairs while Sam closed the door behind them. "Would you  _wait_ , for the love of God..."

"George?" She called, the edge of panic creeping back into her voice when she got no response. "George?!"

His bedroom was empty, but it was clear that he'd been asleep while she and Sam had been gone, due to the crumpled sheets that had ended up on the floor next to his dirty clothes. His parents' bedroom was empty too, as were the guest rooms. Finally, Cheyenne pushed the bathroom door open and found him sat on the edge of the bathtub, his head in his hands. " _George_ , you fucking asshole!"

George raised his head a little at that, peering up at her with narrowed eyes as Sam and Dean appeared behind her. "Huh?"

"When someone yells your name at you, you  _answer them_!" She snapped, stepping inside the room and crouching in front of him, her expression softening when she saw his shaky hands. "Are you okay?"

"No." He grunted, dragging one of those shaky hands through his hair before meeting her gaze. As he lifted her head, Cheyenne felt the breath catch in her throat; he was sporting an angry purple bruise beneath his jaw that she was almost certain matched hers. "I think I'm going crazy. Chey, I swear to God, it didn't even feel like I was dreaming that time... It felt like she was really in the room with me." 

"Well the good news..." She said gently, casting a nervous glance back at the brothers before placing one sympathetic hand on his knee. "Is that you aren't going crazy."

"Somehow you aren't making that sound like good news." George muttered, looking between her and the Winchester brothers suspiciously. "And I feel like you're about to hit me with a 'but'."

"Well, that's the bad news." She said slowly, shooting him a nervous smile. "And you may think I'm crazy when I'm done."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I _want_ to call you crazy." George began, staring across the room at Cheyenne. Sam and Dean had thought it best to take George somewhere more comfortable to explain what was happening to him, so they'd all ended up in the living room. Sam had brewed some tea and brought it over for George to drink while Cheyenne explained everything the best she could. Dean, meanwhile, was more interested in exploring George's parents' enormous house. He'd already gone snooping through the bedrooms, and was poking around the large fireplace in the centre of the living room by the time she was through explaining everything. 

"But..?" She said hesitantly, waiting with bated breath as George sighed, his gaze flickering between her, Sam and Dean. 

"But I can't." He finally admitted, almost sounding ashamed. "I must be crazier than I thought, because that... Makes some sort of sense to me." 

"I like this guy." Dean commented from over by the fireplace, where he was examining one of the pokers. After a stern " _Dean_!" from both Cheyenne and Sam, he dropped it back onto the stand and shoved his hands into his pockets like a child who'd been caught stealing candy, turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Ana's death just... Never made sense to me." He admitted quietly. "I mean, I figured it was just that I didn't _want_ to believe she was in such a bad place that she got desperate enough to... you know..." He trailed off lamely, frowning as he thought about it. "But she really... she wasn't depressed. Not even close. Jake wasn't either."

"I don't know if it makes it better or worse." Cheyenne admitted, glancing over at Sam and thinking back to their earlier conversation before gently touching George's knee. "I know this is a lot to take in."

"Yeah, it really is." He admitted, looking at her with exhausted, red-rimmed eyes. He was a far cry from the charming, attractive student she'd met nearly two years earlier. That boy didn't have a care in the world - his biggest concern was making sure he didn't roll into a lecture still drunk from the night before. She wouldn't have been able to imagine she'd be sat in front of that same boy now, and see as much pain as she could in his eyes. For a moment, Cheyenne paused to wonder if he felt the same way about her.

"What now?" George asked, looking between the three of them. "Is there something we can do to stop this thing?"

"Well, we need to try and find whatever object Eloise's spirit is connected to and salt and burn it." Sam explained, sitting down in the armchair opposite George while Dean threw himself into the space on the couch beside Cheyenne. "Should stop her from coming after you guys, and put her to rest."

"Do you know what you're looking for?" George asked. He didn't really need to wait for a vocal response; he could tell by their awkward, unhappy facial expressions that they didn't. "Okay..."

"I think our best bet is checking on her parents house." Dean said, one arm coming to rest along the back of the couch and looking over at Cheyenne. "You said she was a local girl, right?"

"Yeah, her parents had a house in town last I heard. But I don't know where it is. And besides, I think her folks are out of town for a lot of the year, giving lectures and stuff at colleges."

Dean shot her a familiar cocky grin, which was oddly comforting, even given the circumstances. "Even better."

"I know where it is." George mumbled from across the coffee table in the other armchair. When Cheyenne glanced over at him, she saw him twisting his hands nervously, avoiding their gazes. "Went there a couple of times in Freshman year."

"You did?" She asked in surprise. George nodded tensely, gnawing on his lower lip. 

"We were partners for a project in Freshman year, so I was over there to work a few times. I can still remember the way." 

"That actually brings me to my next point." Sam said, drawing their attention back to him. "I think, until we can salt and burn whatever's keeping Eloise here, it's probably safer if we keep the two of you separated."

"I don't want to be on my own." George said quickly, sitting bolt upright in his chair and shooting Cheyenne a nervous glance. She shushed him gently, glancing at Sam pointedly to let him continue. 

"You won't be on your own." Sam assured him. "I think if I stay with you, and Dean stays with Cheyenne, it might be a little safer than keeping the two of you together. After all, if the spirit is drawn to the two of you, it's likely she's going to be more attracted to you while you're together." 

Out of the corner of her eye, Cheyenne could have sworn she saw George shuffle back in his chair away from her. 

"So that's settled then." Dean stood up, looking at the other three. "Sam, you take George and go to the girl's house to see if you can find anything to burn, and I'll stay here with Chey."

George didn't look too impressed with this plan, and Cheyenne suspected he'd been hoping he'd be able to stay at home while Dean and Cheyenne did the leg work; seeing as he was the only one who actually  _knew_  where Eloise had lived though, he wasn't really in a position to complain. Instead, he murmured something about getting dressed properly and disappeared upstairs while Dean pulled Sam into the hallway. 

"Sammy, listen to me." He said, keeping his voice low so Cheyenne couldn't hear. "I don't care how much you have to burn when you get there, I don't care if you have to burn the whole God-damn house down. Just make sure you find whatever's keeping that bitch here and torch it, alright?"

Sam saw the intensity in his brother's eyes, and read between the lines fairly quickly. If he and George couldn't find whatever was keeping Eloise's ghost attached to this world (and attacking people), then they were going to be dealing with more deaths. More importantly to Dean, they were going to be dealing with Cheyenne's death. 

"You two alright?"

Dean stepped back from his brother as Cheyenne stepped into the hallway, tossing him the keys to the Impala and shooting her a grin. "Absolutely, sweetheart." 

"Sam, go easy on George, okay?" She asked quietly, frowning up at him. "He's... He's still pretty messed up about all of this."

"I know he is." Sam shot her what he hoped was a comforting smile as he pocketed the keys to the Impala. "Don't worry, he'll be safe with me."

Almost as if their words had summoned him, in a matter of seconds they could hear George coming down the staircase towards them, and then he was stood with them, pulling on a coat. "Okay, I guess this is it?"

"Yeah." Dean clapped him on the back, almost as if he hoped it would strike some resolve into him. "Oh! One more thing before you go."

George turned towards him wearily, probably expecting a word of caution, or maybe even a few platitudes of support. 

"That fireplace still work?" Dean shot him a charming grin.


	19. Chapter 19

"This is nice." Dean said quietly, nuzzling into Cheyenne's neck as he drew absent-minded circles on her arm with his thumb. Almost as soon as he'd heard the screech of the Impala's tyres out in the street, he had been crouched down in front of the fireplace, stoking it up and lighting it before grabbing a throw from the couch and beckoning her closer. She'd relented, partially because she was too tired to tell him they had more pressing concerns, but mostly because after a year apart, she couldn't resist the opportunity to lean back against him and feel his arms around her again. 

"Except for the ghost that's trying to kill me." A small, sad smile danced across her lips for a moment before disappearing as she stared into the fire. 

"Except for that." He conceded, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder and pulling her closer so her back was flush against his chest. "I've missed this."

"You know, when this is over you and I are going to have to have a serious conversation about everything, right?" She said quietly. The small circles on her arm stilled for a second. 

"I know." The circles started up again, a little more slowly now. He was treading carefully, thinking about every word before he said them. "When this is over I'm going to tell Sam the truth about us."

"Bold move, coming from you." She couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth, and regretted them almost immediately. To her surprise, it didn't seem to bother him. 

"I deserved that." Dean chuckled gently, and she could feel it reverberate through her back. It was a comforting sensation, and Cheyenne wondered exactly what it was about Dean that had such a calming effect on her. "But I'll tell him. I promise."

"And what about us?" She asked quietly, turning her head a little so she could stare up at him, and for a brief moment, the part of her brain that used to get distracted by him while she was studying for a final took over. 

He was attractive - one of the most attractive men she'd ever met - and in a completely different way to Sam and John. John had been terrifying - there was something about those dark eyes that had scared Cheyenne when they'd first met - but even despite that she could appreciate his rugged handsomeness. Sam was the opposite, he was cute. despite towering over her at 6'4 or 6'5, he was soft and gentle, always acting like he was approaching a skittish Deer with those big hazel eyes, always warm and inviting where his father had been cold and distant. 

But Dean? Dean was... Dean was beautiful. There was really no other way to describe him. Everything about him, from the long, sweeping eyelashes that framed those eyes that were a shade of green she  _just couldn't place_  to his plump lips, pulled into a permenant grin. Right now, in the dim room, while he was only illuminated by the light from the fireplace in front of them, he looked more beautiful than ever, with those features that seemed all too delicate for the life he led. 

He caught her staring. 

She'd been caught staring at him and zoning out multiple times before (so had he, in fact.) But this time when he caught her, he smiled gently before placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, cupping the back of her head so tenderly Cheyenne thought she might just  _melt_ right there in his arms.

"What do you mean 'what about us'?" He asked.

"What does all of this mean for the future?" Cheyenne didn't want to be having this conversation, not really. It was risky, treading on this ground. What if he didn't want anything to do with her after he left, and this conversation kickstarted him walking away again?

"Well, are you seeing anyone?"

"Probably should have been a question you asked me  _before_  we had sex." She teased gently, earning her that familiar grin. "I'm not seeing anyone. I went on a couple of dates with this one guy from my Classical Philosophy class a month or so ago, but it didn't go anywhere."

An expression flickered across his face in the dark room that Cheyenne couldn't quite place, but she was almost positive was a spark of jealousy. When he spoke, his tone betrayed nothing. "Why not?"

"We just didn't... Click." She shrugged lamely. In truth, she knew exactly why those two dates with Christopher had resulted in nothing more than a chaste kiss on the lips at her front door before an awkward, quiet goodbye. 

He wasn't Dean. 

Christopher was everything Cheyenne would have killed to date in Freshman year; he was one of the smartest people in the year, he was so handsome that even Jake and George had commented on it, and beyond even that, he made Cheyenne laugh, helped her have fun. Unlike Dean, who reeked of the 'bad boy' persona that both terrified and excited her, Christopher was the kind of guy that any girl would have been able to bring home and meet their parents. (Not that she ever would have, of course.) He should have been perfect. He  _was_  perfect, in fact. 

But she didn't want perfect. She wanted _Dean_. 

Without being prompted, Cheyenne decided to spell it out for him. "Chris was great, but he wasn't you." 

Dean sucked air in through his teeth slowly at that, his gaze drifting back to the fire for a few moments while he considered this. Finally, he spoke. 

"I ruined you, didn't I?" He said softly, chuckling as he looked back at her. 

"You're worth it." She assured him, her right hand coming to rest on his cheek gently, laying across the three-day old stubble. As always, Dean leaned into her touch, just a little. It was so tender, such a pure, honest moment that for a few seconds, she forgot about everything. She forgot about the ghost that was terrorising her and George, and she forgot about the funerals she was going to have to go in the next coming weeks. For just a few seconds, Cheyenne allowed herself to get completely, and totally lost in the moment with him.

Shuffling so she could sit up on her knees, Cheyenne pressed her forehead to his, her nose grazing against his slowly. Almost as if on instinct, Dean's warms were around her waist in an effort to pull her closer, and Cheyenne could hear his breathing pick up, hitching at the back of his throat. One hand slid underneath her t-shirt, calloused fingers grazing over the soft skin of her back while the other clung to her waist, anchoring her. 

"I'm still angry with you." She promised him, her voice a low whisper as her lips ghosted over his. "About everything."

"I'd be surprised if you weren't." She could hear the smile in Dean's voice. 

"Don't leave me again, Dean." It was supposed to come out as an order, but when she heard the words, it sounded more like desperate begging. Not that it seemed to matter to him. 

With expert grace and strength that still astounded her, Dean had moved her into his lap so she was straddling him, shooting her a smile in the darkness. It wasn't the cocky grin she'd seen a thousand times before, though. There was a vulnerability to it that she was unfamiliar with. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly and low. 

"Never again." He promised, finally kissing her properly. 

She sank into it, pressing her chest against his as her fingers sank into his soft hair and his arms wrapped around her waist again. No matter what was going on outside, no matter what could happen that night, for now she felt truly safe in his arms. Even if only for a few minutes. His fingers tangled into her hair, and for a moment Cheyenne could have sworn she heard Dean moan beneath her. 

The crash of the kitchen door surprised them, separating them like they'd been electrocuted, and Cheyenne was almost positive she  _yelped_  at the sudden noise. 

"Mood killer much?" She joked, laughing nervously. 

Dean wasn't laughing though. Beneath her, his muscles had tensed, and his jaw had locked. She recognised that look. It was the same look he'd had on his face the night they'd fought McGinley (in fact, it was awfully similar to the look John had worn). It was the same expression he'd had on his face when he'd burst into her motel room the night before. 

"She's here."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her heart was pounding uncomfortably quickly, so fast that Cheyenne could feel it in her throat, in her wrists, even in the crooks of her elbows. They were both on their feet now; Dean was holding his shotgun aloft, making sure to keep her behind him as he scanned the room for any sign of movement. As they stood there, Cheyenne became acutely aware of just how close they were stood to the fire, and shuffled to the side a little. "You see anything?"

Dean shook his head - a movement so small she would have missed it if she wasn't staring at him in fear. His muscles had locked up underneath his dark blue shirt so much she was convinced the material was going to split at the seams, and he'd dropped into a defensive stance. Cheyenne realised with a shiver that she'd only ever seen him like this once before - the night she'd called him from her Father's house and he'd come to get her. 

She felt uncomfortably exposed without a weapon in her hands, and while Dean scanned the room she bent down beside her to grab one of the pokers from beside the fireplace. "This look like iron to you?"

When Dean looked down at her, she could have sworn that he looked proud for a moment. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth for a brief moment, and he met her gaze. "That's my girl."

She didn't have time to respond. Over his shoulder, just in front of the doorway, Cheyenne saw a figure materialise. Cold fear gripped her for a second as she recognised it from the mirror. It was definitely Eloise. "Dean, behind you!"

He swung around quickly, and almost without aiming he fired, blasting Eloise full of rock salt and causing her to vanish for a few seconds. His shoulders relaxed for a few moments, until he saw her appear again, this time only a few feet in front of them. 

Dean fired again, grunting as he tossed his shotgun aside. "Bitch." 

"Did you..." Cheyenne stared at him in disbelief as he picked up another poker from beside the fireplace. "Did you only pack  _two_  shotgun shells? To a fight with a _Ghost_?"

"Oh, sue me." He snapped, weighing the poker in his hand before pulling her so they were back to back, stood almost in the same spot Eloise had been only moments before. "Anything moves, you swing at it, alright?" 

"You know this feels  _really_  risky, right?" She murmured, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice. Dean muttered something non-committal in response, pressing his back up against hers a little more. 

"Just keep your eyes open, okay? I'm going to be right here."

Keeping her eyes open felt like half the job, if she was honest. It was taking up almost every ounce of her self control not to squeeze her eyes shut, curl up into a ball and wait for everything to be over, but she knew that was a bad idea. Besides, even if she really wanted to, it wasn't an option. Her legs had locked in place instinctively.

 _Come on, Cheyenne. You can do this. You've done this before_. 

That much was true. She was used to fighting the urge to cry and run, she'd been doing it for as long as she could remember. Cheyenne had learned the lesson at a young age that running, or crying, or showing _any_  kind of fear would only make things worse.

She had the scars to prove it. 

Almost as if it was to draw her out of her thoughts, the fire went out beside them. It happened so quickly it was like someone had thrown a bucket of water over it, plunging them into almost total darkness, and Cheyenne felt a scream rise in her throat. Fighting it down, she pressed her back against Dean's instead, her muscles locking up as a low moan escaped her lips. "Dean..." 

"I know, sweetheart." His voice was low. "I know. I'm right here." 

Cheyenne had never been particularly religious, but for the first time in a long time, she prayed. Not to any particular God, more like a general cry for help.  _Sam, please hurry._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"You found  _anything_?" Sam called, tossing a box of clothes aside as he dug through the bedroom. Once they'd arrived at the house, he and George had opted for speed over neatness, and they'd started throwing anything they thought could possibly be meaningful enough to tie a spirit down into a pile. It was a more difficult task than they'd originally thought. 

Eloise, as it turned out, was something of a hoarder. 

"Dude, I'm telling you for the final time." George called back through gritted teeth. "I  _don't know_  what she thought was important. I mean for fucks sake, look around you! Knowing our luck she had a favourite fucking  _thumb tac_  that she's sticking around for!"

Sam bit back the urge to call George an asshole and to tell him to shut up before going back to digging through Eloise's closet, in the vain hope that he'd find  _anything_  more worth throwing into the pile, other than a couple of journals that had some fairly meaningless crap in them and some photographs. 

"Just... keep working, okay?" He sighed. "There's a chance she could show up here, remember."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cheyenne barely had the time to react when Dean was flung across the room away from her. He crashed into the far wall before crumpling into a heap on the floor, not unlike John had done when he tried to protect her from McGinley. 

"Dean!" She screamed, taking a few steps forwards to try and get to him before freezing. Eloise appeared  a few feet in front of her, blocking her path to Dean and forcing her to stumble backwards a little, until she was almost at the doorway to the entrance hall. For a moment, no-one moved. Cheyenne just stared at the girl who had once been her classmate, and the girl stared right back.

Not a lot had changed about her - now that Cheyenne was getting a good look at her she could see that. The dark hair was still greasy and unkempt, her eyes were still cold, and more than a little unnerving. Despite that, there was something just a little different about her; it was almost like she was radiating a little glow of light, too faint to actually illuminate anything in the room. 

Cheyenne readied herself, gripping the iron poker a little tighter in her hand as Eloise turned to face her properly.  _If she comes at you, just swing without thinking._  

Eloise never did come at her, though. She never made a movement, save for the slight flick of her wrist that was so small that Cheyenne missed it while she was readying herself for a fight. 

Dean missed it too, as he slowly regained consciousness and sat up, groaning gently as he leaned back against the wall. When he could finally open his eyes properly he saw Eloise in front of him again, and saw Cheyenne, stood by the doorway to the hall with the poker still in her hands. 

He didn't miss the rope that was snaking across the floor towards her though. 

"Cheyenne!" He yelled, struggling to get to his feet. "Look out!"

Before she could react, the rope tightened around her neck, jerking her backwards so quickly that she fell, and the iron poker clattered to the ground, skidding away from her until it hit the front door. As soon as her body hit the floor, she was dragged through the doorway and disappeared into the hall. 

Dean's body reacted almost without his mind telling him to do so. He was up on his feet, poker in hand in only a few seconds, and he swung at Eloise with a grunt, watching her disappear in front of him. Somehow, it wasn't as satisfying as normal. 

" _Cheyenne_?!" He roared, running out of the living room and into the entrance hall. When he got out there, he swore for a split second his heart actually stopped. 

She'd been dragged across the floor by the rope, which had looped itself around the banister of the balcony to the second floor, suspending her a few feet in the air. For a moment, when the rope had tightened around her neck, it felt like her brain had gone into blind panic, and her brain shut down. She'd kicked wildly, scrabbling desperately at the rope as it cut off her windpipe until she couldn't breath at all, and then finally, her brain had kicked back into gear. 

_You're going to die unless you can get support._

She needed something solid underneath her feet, just something to take the pressure off the rope around her neck. The banister of the staircase was only a few feet away, and if she could get enough momentum behind her, she could grab onto it. Then she might be able to take the pressure off the rope long enough to loosen it and slip out...

Dark spots were clouding her vision as she struggled against the rope, trying in vain to start swinging her way towards the staircase. It was just so damn  _hard_ to even think, let alone move. 

She was starting to black out; she could feel it approaching, could feel her limbs starting to get heavy. As much as she tried to call out to Dean, to cry out at all, she could only wheeze and gasp pathetically, her eyes rolling back in her head as she tried desperately to keep consciousness. Cheyenne hadn't even noticed Dean calling her name, hadn't even registered it as he'd rushed up the stairs past her to get to the balcony. He'd called out to her, promised her he was going to get her down as he swiped at Eloise's spirit and desperately sawed through the rope with his not-exactly-sharp pocket knife. 

She was almost completely unconscious by the time he broke the rope, and she crashed to the polished wooden floor. He heard the noise she made - something between a grateful gasp of air and a wounded howl - and he was on his feet again, rushing down the stairs. "Cheyenne?! Chey?"

Dean rolled her onto her back, loosening the rope around her neck and tossing it aside as she tried desperately to inhale, to fill her lungs with the oxygen they'd been so painfully deprived of. As she coughed and spluttered in his arms, Dean tried to sit her up a little. "Jesus Christ, are you okay?"

She groaned into his arm for a second, her breathing still heavy when she managed a weak nod, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. It took her a few more moments before she could speak. 

"I'll live." It was hoarse, and her voice cracked a little, but it was enough for him.

Dean helped her to her feet, and she leaned into him heavily, still groaning a little as they stumbled back into the living room. He eased her onto the couch gently, crouching in front of her to look her in the eyes. A bruise was already forming around her neck from the rope, and as he watched her, her chest was still rising and falling more heavily than normal. 

"I'll be... okay..." She managed to get out, sucking in air slowly as she tried to shook him a shaky smile. "Where is she?"

"No idea." Dean grunted, glancing around the room suspiciously. "I'm sure she'll show up soon. Dammit, why haven't they burned her yet?"

"Because she was cremated." Cheyenne pointed out, easing herself back onto her feet and grabbing onto his shoulder tightly for support. "Which complicates things somewhat."

"You're telling me." He muttered, glancing around the room again as Cheyenne made her way back to the fireplace to pick up another poker. Almost as if on cue, his phone started to ring in his jacket, which he'd tossed over the back of the couch. Dean dug around in his pocket for it before pulling it out, beckoning Cheyenne to move closer to him. "Back to back again."

Ordinarily, he never would have dared to give her such a brusque order, but she followed it without question, standing behind him with her back to his, poker raised as he answered the phone. "Sammy, tell me you've got something."

"We're throwing everything we think might work into a pile." His younger brother assured him. "But Dean, we found this picture..."

"Yeah? What of?" Dean glanced over his shoulder as Cheyenne swung her poker at Eloise. Her movements were a little sloppy, and she took a step forwards in order to make the swing, but the poker cut through the spirit easily, and they both watched as she disappeared. "Good job. Just keep it tight, okay? Don't give her enough space to get between us."

Sam had heard him. "She's with you guys?"

" _Yes Sam_." He snapped. "She is. So for the love of God, tell me you've got a way to gank this bitch."

"We might have something. There's this photograph in her room of her with a girl. George says it's Ana."

"So what?" Dean asked as he felt Cheyenne move to take another quick swing. "If you think it's what she's attached to, burn it."

"No, Dean." Sam insisted. "It's what's  _in_  the picture. You know that bracelet Cheyenne's wearing, the red one?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well in this picture, Ana's wearing one just like it. And so is Eloise, she's wearing an identical one."

Dean glanced over at Cheyenne, and then down at her wrist where he could see the bracelet. She'd said it was a gift, but she'd never told him who from. "Where did you get that?"

"Huh?" She followed his gaze and looked down at the red bracelet before looking back up at him in confusion. "You're asking me about jewellery?"

"Where did you get it, Chey?" He pressed, hearing a sharp bark in his tone that caused her eyebrows to raise in surprise. 

"Ana gave it to me." She said quietly, a line appearing between her brows as she frowned up at him. "Why?"

Dean could hear Sam saying something down the phone, and he shushed him sharply, his attention still on Cheyenne. "When did she give it to you?"

"A... day or two before she died. It was the last time I saw her before -"

Dean closed his phone immediately, tossing it aside on the couch and holding out his now-empty hand to her. "Give it to me."

"Excuse me?"

"Give me the bracelet, Chey." He ordered, snapping his fingers. "Now."

"You think  _this_  is what she's attached to?!" Cheyenne stared at him in shock. When he only gave her a grim nod in response, she looked down at the bracelet, wavering uncertainly. This was the last thing Ana had given her. Even if it was just some crappy thing she hadn't cared about, it was the last gift she'd ever given her. And she was never going to get another one. "You can't burn it, Dean."

Her voice was soft, closer to a whisper than anything, and Dean felt his heart break, just a little. He knew how she felt - he couldn't imagine what he'd do if someone told him to burn the amulet Sam had given him. But if they didn't, she was going to die. 

"I'm so sorry." He whispered. "We don't have a choice."

"What if it's not, though?" She asked desperately, finally looking up at him. She was fully aware of how stupid and childish she must have seemed to him, with tears in her eyes and damn near stomping her feet in protest. "What if we burn it and it's  _not_?"

"You know I can't take that risk." He said softly. "Baby, I nearly lost you once tonight. I ain't letting that happen again." 

That vulnerability in his eyes was back. She couldn't tell who seemed more desperate any more - her, at the thought of having to burn the last thing her best friend had ever given her, or him at the prospect of having to watch her die. 

She gave in. Her shoulders slumped, and with a sigh she pushed the bracelet off her wrist, dropping it into his hand reluctantly. "Okay." 

Dean cupped the back of her head, kissing her forehead with a little more force than was probably necessary, before walking over to the fireplace, digging around in his pocket for his lighter. Almost as if that was the cue for her to make her reappearance, Eloise materialised between them, staring at Cheyenne with those cold eyes. As she lifted the poker to hit her again, Cheyenne felt something slam into her, and then she was flying across the room until her back hit the wooden panelling.

"Chey!" Dean called out, desperately flicking his lighter to try and get it to catch a flame. "Shit..."

She was choking again. This time it was more forceful, it was happening so much faster, and she suspected it was because Eloise was doing it directly. Black spots were  already clouding her vision again, and as she gasped for air, Dean started to fade from her vision. It wasn't long until all she could see was Eloise. 

"You..." She rasped as she drew near, her lips pulling back into a grimace. " _You_..."

Cheyenne couldn't have responded even if she'd wanted, but there was nothing she could say. She wanted to apologise to the girl, apologise for not trying to be friends with her, apologise for the lies she'd been complicit in through Freshman and Sophomore year. But there were no words that would ever get through to Eloise, and the small part of the back of her head that was still functioning knew that. 

She registered the blurred flickering of Dean's lighter, but by that time her eyes were starting to roll back into her head again as her breathing faltered. They'd been too late. She couldn't save Ana, or Jake, and she couldn't save herself. Dean was going to have to watch her die. 

There was one last thought that vaguely passed through her brain before she lost consciousness.  _At least we saved George._

By the time the bracelet was on fire, and Dean could hear Eloise's screams dying out as she crumbled into nothing, Cheyenne had slid to the floor, and was slumped against the wall. Dean dropped the smouldering bracelet and his lighter and rushed to her side, skidding on his knees as he grabbed her face with both hands. "Chey? Chey, oh God no... Please, no..." 

She was limp in his arms for only a second or two (although it felt a lot longer) before inhaling so deeply it came out more like a gasp. Her eyes flew open, widened by shock as she sucked in a huge gulp of air. "Jesus, fuck!"

Relief washed over Dean so quickly he almost felt sick. Without even considering the fact that she probably needed as much space as possible to recover from getting strangled by a ghost, he bundled her up in his arms, holding her to his chest as he leaned back against the wall, their breathing heavy and ragged. She wasn't dead. He'd gotten there in time. He'd saved her. 

"I love you." 

 _Finally_. 

The words sounded so natural, they came out of his mouth so easily that for a moment Dean wondered how it had taken him so long to actually tell her. 

 _Oh yeah, it's because you're emotionally deprived_. 

Instead of responding, Cheyenne just laughed weakly in his arms, turning her head up to look at him properly. Dean glanced down, a little offended. 

"I can't believe it took me  _nearly dying_  to get that out of you." She teased gently, her voice still hoarse. Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, but she reached up with one hand to cup his cheek, bringing his head a little closer to hers. 

"I love you too, Dean."


	20. Chapter 20

They stayed there like that until Sam and George came back to the house. Dean was sat back against the wall, and Cheyenne was bundled up in his arms with her head against his chest, eyes closed. He just stroked his fingers through her hair lightly as he cradled her to him, every so often looking down at her, almost as if he was checking she really was still there.

Neither of them spoke; there was nothing that needed to be said, not any more.

When Sam and George showed up over an hour later, that was how they found them. Dean opened his eyes slowly to shoot Sam an exhausted smile as they came in, and Cheyenne shifted in his arms, turning her head to look at them. 

"So is that it? It's over?" Sam double checked, glancing around the living room while Dean nodded. 

"It's over." He said quietly, already looking back down at Cheyenne. "It was the bracelet. I guess Eloise must have given it to Ana... Then when Ana gave it to you, it must have... woken her up. Started all of this."

"So..." George dropped into an armchair, looking around at the three of them. "No more nightmares?"

"They weren't nightmares." Cheyenne pointed out gently, pushing herself up into a sitting position and propping herself up against the wall beside Dean. "But yeah. No more nightmares."

"Thank God..." He sighed, looking at the shotgun on the couch, the pokers strewn around the floor. "What happened here anyway?"

"I nearly ended up like Ana and Jake." She said quietly, reaching up absentmindedly to touch the dark bruises around her neck. 

"But you didn't." Dean reminded her, his fingers lacing into hers as he shot her a comforting smile, giving her hand a squeeze. His gaze lingered on her for a few moments, before he looked back over at Sam, who was watching them closely. "What?"

"Nothing." He could see a faint smile on his younger brother's lips, and resisted the strong urge to walk across the room and hit him in the arm. "You guys want to head back to the motel?"

"Are you going to be okay on your own?" Cheyenne asked George, who nodded. 

"Yeah. My parents caught an earlier flight, so they should get home in a few hours. I'll be fine." 

She nodded slowly, struggling to her feet with a grunt and leaning on Dean heavily when he offered her support. "If you need anything, just call me, okay?"

"I will." He assured her with a weak smile, crossing the room to pull her into a hug. "But to tell you the truth, I think I'm going to sleep for a month."

Admittedly, that sounded like a good enough plan. Even though Eloise was gone, and they knew neither of them were going to die that night, the nightmare still wasn't over. In two days they'd be on a plane to Austin to bury Ana, and in the week after that they'd both be going to Maine to Jake's funeral. With a pang of guilt, Cheyenne realised none of them had actually made good on their promise to go see him during one of the breaks from college, and it would be her first time in the state. 

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" She gave his shoulder a quick squeeze of reassurance, and they shared a brief, grim smile before Dean's arm was around her and she was led out of the house and into the Impala. 

Dean groaned as he eased himself into the driver's seat, flipping through the radio stations until he landed on one he liked while Cheyenne and Sam settled into their seats. A familiar crooning filled the car, and beside him, Sam chuckled. "What?"

"Really Dean?" He smiled incredulously. "Bob Dylan?"

" _This_  is a classic." Dean jabbed his finger in the direction of the radio as he threw the Impala into gear and peeled away from the curb, singing along (badly) to the song. " _The times, they are a cha-a-nging_..."

It didn't take long for Cheyenne to pass out in the back seat, and when Dean looked at her in the rear view mirror he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her slumped against the door, her breathing already steady and even as her mouth hung open a little bit. Slowly, he reached over to turn the radio down, trying to bite back the huge grin that threatened to split his mouth in two. It felt  _good_  to see her in his car again. 

"So... Are you ready to tell me the truth?" Sam asked quietly. "About Chey?"

Dean didn't want to, not really. As he pulled up to a stop light, he grew increasingly aware of his fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have, not even with Sam. 

But he'd promised her.

"We met on a case in '03." He began quietly, putting his foot down on the gas as the light turned amber and ignoring the 'tsk' from his brother. "Dad and I were hunting some vampires, and I met her in the library."

"You were in a -" Sam began, but Dean cut him off with a sharp 'shut up, Sam.' 

" _Yeah_ , the library. I saw her there the day after, and we started talking." He smiled gently at the memory - back when things had been a hell of a lot simpler. "At first I was just looking for some information, but... I ended up asking her out to a bar. We drank, we had fun... We had a  _lot_  of fun."

"Okay." Sam cut him off. "No details. I don't need to know about the fun."

"We were only in town for like three weeks." Dean carried on, ignoring him. "And I figured when we left, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. But it was...  _hard_  to say goodbye to her. I mean, I actually struggled to say goodbye to a girl."

Sam didn't say anything at that, allowing his older brother to continue. "So we set up this arrangement. I'd be on the road, she'd be at College, and I'd just... drop by whenever I could. It started out pretty casually at first, but... I don't know what happened. After a few months it was like a couldn't sit still until I was in the car on my way to her place."

He missed Sam's gentle smile at that, and kept talking. "I told her about everything after a few months. There was this case, Dad wanted to use her as bait." He swallowed thickly. "She got hurt. I was... Jesus, I hadn't been that angry at him since the night you walked out. But she still stuck around, even after that. For eight months." 

"You're in love with her." Sam said softly. It wasn't a question, but Dean nodded his head slowly in agreement. 

"Yeah. I am." It felt good to finally admit it. 

"But you left her?"

Sam saw his brother's jaw tighten, saw something flash in his eyes. And then finally, he explained everything. He told Sam about the vampires, about having to leave and call her from the road. He told her about how difficult it was to get over her, no matter how hard he tried. He even told him about the time he drove through the night to Wisconsin, but turned around at the last second to head back to the motel. That wasn't a story he imagined he'd ever share - he still wasn't sure he wanted to tell her about it.

He'd just finished by the time they pulled up, and when he switched the engine off he realised his brother was still silent. "What?"

"Are you going to walk out on her again?" Sam asked quietly, avoiding his gaze. Dean didn't even have to pause to think about it; as soon as he caught sight of her in the rear view mirror again he shook his head. 

"No. I can't do that again." He whispered, pulling the key out of the ignition.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was more difficult to say goodbye the next morning than any other time before. It was harder than leaving her in Austin with Ana after taking her out of her Father's house, and it was harder than walking away from her after the Vampires. 

Dean knew he couldn't stay at the College with her, as much as he wanted to. She had to head to Austin for the funeral, and he had to get back on the trail for John, but it didn't make it any easier to walk away from her again, after everything that had happened. It didn't feel fair to him - to either of them in fact - that after a year apart they could only have one day together. 

"I'll call you tonight, okay?" He whispered, pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. "When Sam and I find a motel, I'll call."

"Dean, it's okay." She assured him, but when she smiled it was more than a little sad. "You need to look for your Dad, I get it."

"I wish I could stay." He sighed, cupping her cheek to tilt her face up a little more. "I really do, but we've got to chase this lead down."

"I have to leave tomorrow afternoon anyway." She reassured him him, tugging at his leather jacket to straighten it. "Don't sweat it, just call me tonight when you guys have found a place to stay."

A part of him wished she'd put up a fight. He wished she complained, stamped her feet a little and begged him to stay, because that way he could shoot Sam an apologetic shrug and just follow her up to her apartment. She was too understanding, too sympathetic for that. And she knew as well as he did that if she showed even the slightest bit of annoyance that he was leaving so soon, he would just stay. 

So instead, she leaned up on the tips of her toes, gripping the front of his leather jacket as she kissed him slowly, savouring the warm feeling of his lips on hers, the faint taste of coffee on his tongue from their breakfast still lingering. One of his hands settled on her waist and the other on her lower back as he pulled her against him, his lips lingering on hers even after they broke the kiss. He didn't want to pull away properly, and neither did she. 

"I love you." She whispered, her lips still ghosting over his as she spoke. Dean damn near  _groaned_  at the words, finally pulling back a little to look at her properly. 

"Took almost two years to hear that." He murmured, sighing regretfully. "I should've told you sooner."

"Yeah, you should've." She agreed, grinning up at him teasingly as she wound her arms around his neck. "Now tell me you love me, get in your car, and go find your Dad." 

His lips quirked into that familiar cocky grin, and he leaned back in close, pressing his forehead to hers. "Yes ma'am."

His grip on her tightened just a little as he kissed her again, a little more gently this time. "I love you too, Cheyenne." 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Being home alone for the first time again was odd. Cheyenne thought she'd feel unsettled, uncomfortable even, but she didn't. Jake's parents had stopped by during the day, and she'd spent time going through his things, collecting his clothes and posters and trophies. She'd hugged his father as he'd cried over a box of Jake's clothes, held his mother as she'd wept on the floor of his bedroom, and then helped them carry their son's things to the car. It was horrible to see them like that, but after they'd gone she felt oddly at peace. 

They'd left the bedroom door ajar when they'd finally left, and when Cheyenne went to close it she couldn't help but peek in, mostly out of habit. She'd done it when Ana lived with her - poked her head around the door to invite her to watch a movie, or ask if she wanted to share dinner or even just chill on the sofa and throw balled up paper at each other for an hour. By the time Jake had moved in, it had become a routine that she couldn't snap out of (not that he ever complained.) She'd check up on him, making sure he'd done laundry that week or he'd drunk any water at all that day, or sometimes she would just sit on his bed and talk _at_ him while he studied. 

Two people she loved had stayed in that room, and although it was empty save for the furniture, she didn't  _feel_  like it was empty. She didn't even feel the same haunting presence of death she had done only a few days earlier. 

The day after Jake had died, Cheyenne had gone to shut his bedroom door, and as soon as she'd touched the door handle, she'd felt bile rise in her throat. Instead of closing the door, she'd spent the next twenty minutes shaking and sobbing on her bathroom floor, her head resting against the seat. Now, she grabbed a glass of wine and her laptop and sat on the floor of the bedroom calmly, immediately putting on an old classic. 

Ana and Jake had both teased her for her love of Otis Redding, and neither of them had been able to understand exactly  _why_  it was that she cried every time she heard  _Cigarettes and Coffee_ , because even she couldn't explain it to them. Nonetheless, during their time in the apartment they'd both learned to appreciate his low, melodic voice and the accompanying saxophone, and over time the teasing had stopped. Even Jake, who's love of 90's rap music remained unparalleled could understand how soothing it was to just sit back, close your eyes and let the music wash over you. 

So that was what she did, with tears sparkling in her eyes almost as soon as she heard the first note of the saxophone. She'd heard it so many times, she knew it so well that it comforted her, despite the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Even in the empty room, somehow she didn't feel completely alone. And it wasn't scary. 

"I'm gonna miss you guys so much." She whispered to the room, smiling fondly as she looked at the bare walls. Two years ago they'd been home to  _Buffy_  posters, photographs of Ana and Cheyenne, and the various members of Ana's large family. Two months ago they'd been littered with sports memorabilia and postcards, punctuated by the only photo Jake ever put up on his wall: a picture of his old Great Dane, affectionately named Minestrone (for reasons that still alluded her even after three years of friendship). Now they were bare, with only the stains and crumbling patches of paint to ever hint at the decorations that had once hung there. 

Cheyenne's phone rang on the floor next to her, and she picked it up with a sniff. "Hello?"

"Hey..." She heard Dean's soft voice, and then he paused for a second. "Otis?"

She paused the music, smiling gently as she wiped her eyes. "Yeah, Otis. Did you guys manage to find a motel?"

"Yeah, yeah we did." Dean murmured. "But uh... I realised something."

Cheyenne heard a knock at the front door and stood up slowly, frowning as she checked the time on her laptop. It was a little late for door to door salesmen, but she suspected it was one of Jake's classmates who'd swung by to give condolences. She'd been dealing with them all day. "Hang on a second, there's someone at the door."

She padded across the apartment quickly, sliding back the chain and unlocking the door before pulling it open, only to come face to face with Dean, who still had his phone to his ear. A grin stretched across his features as he saw her. "Hey sweetheart."

"Dean?" She whispered in surprise, staring up at him in shock for a few seconds. He was supposed to be halfway to Michigan by now. "What are you -"

"You know, I realised..." He said gently, snapping his phone shut and tucking it into his pocket as he stepped into the apartment. "That the trail for Dad will still be there tomorrow morning. But I don't know when I'm going to be back here. Figured we may as well make the most of it."

Cheyenne wasn't quite sure where she tossed her cellphone, but the next thing she knew she was in Dean's arms again, and he'd kicked the door shut behind them as he kissed her, turning and pushing her up against the wood as he cupped her cheeks with both hands. 

"I hate leaving you." He whispered, pressing his forehead to hers as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. 

"I hate it too." She assured him, her hands sliding back up his arms slowly until she was cupping the back of his neck. 

"When this is over..." Dean's voice shook a little. "When we find Dad, and we  _finish_  this... I'm coming back here." 

"Good." She joked, moving to kiss him again. He pulled back, just a little, to look at her properly. 

"And I'm not leaving." He finished, swallowing thickly. "When this is over, I'm out. I'm done, for good." 

She stared at him in shock for a few seconds, trying to process exactly what she was hearing. "Are you serious?"

"Sweetheart, do I look like I'm joking?"

He really didn't. 

In fact, that vulnerable look was back in his eyes again, the exact same look as he'd given her when they'd been at George's house and she'd asked him to stay. It was the first time she'd ever asked him that, and a part of her wondered if that had influenced this decision. "No, you don't."

"I'm tired of walking out that door." He closed the gap between them again, his arms encircling her waist. "I'm so  _god-damn tired_  of it."

"Then stay." She whispered, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair slowly, a touch that he arched his neck into a little. "Stay with me, Dean." 

For the second time, she asked him to stay, and Dean didn't quite know how to explain to her that it was all he'd wanted to hear for almost two years. He opened his mouth to try and say it, but couldn't quite get the words out; he just didn't know how to get it out, so instead he tried the next best thing. 

"Bedroom?"


	21. Chapter 21

Sam flicked through the newspaper on his lap absentmindedly, humming to himself as he circled possible jobs among the obituaries while Dean drove, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of ZZ Top's  _Gimme All Your Lovin'_. They were headed to Wisconsin for a few nights while they searched for a job, or for a lead on John. Dean had suggested it in passing as they'd finished their last job and headed back to their motel. His tone had been light and breezy, but when Sam had looked over at him in the car, his older brother's face betrayed him. The hopeful look in his eyes, his eyebrows raised a little, expectantly waiting for the response. 

Sam had said yes, because  _of course he had_. He liked Cheyenne. She was whip-smart, funny, and seemed to make Dean as close to happy as Sam had ever seen him. She was also the only woman he'd ever met who could actually control the elder Winchester brother, and that in itself was a God-damn miracle, so there was no way he was going to piss her off and ruin things. Despite the fact that he spent most of the time in Wisconsin in a motel room, there was always an open offer for him at her apartment, and he had to admit that he enjoyed spending time there. 

It was interesting to watch the two of them together, he'd realised in the two months since he'd met her for the first time. Dean was still a little unsteady on his feet when it came to romance - that much was obvious from a mile away. He wasn't exactly the type to unironically burst through the door and yell 'honey, I'm home' (although he'd done it a fair few times as a joke.) There were some things though, that seemed to come on instinct. When she cooked and he wrapped his arms around her from behind, tucking her into his chest like he never wanted to let go, it seemed like Sam was watching the most natural thing in the world. When she fell asleep on the couch with him as they watched TV and he bundled her up in his arms before carrying her into the bedroom, it seemed like he'd been doing it for years. 

Sam knew there was a lot of uncertainty in their lives as Hunters. There was a lot of turmoil, a lot of bloodshed and a  _lot_  of pain. But Dean had one constant in his life outside of Hunting. He had one thing (other than Sam, of course) to ground him. He had Cheyenne. It dawned on Sam as he watched the two of them who they reminded him of. They reminded him of his relationship with Jessica.

The thought of her sent a bolt of pain through his gut like a knee-jerk reflex just like it always did, but Sam didn't show it in the darkness of the car. Part of the reason he'd always been so angry at Dean's attempts to help him cope with Jessica's death were because a part of Sam didn't honestly believe that Dean was capable of having that kind of relationship with another person, but the more he saw the look in his brother's eyes whenever her name came up in conversation, the more he realised he was wrong. 

"Earth to Sammy." Dean called, snapping his fingers in front of his younger brother's face to get his attention. "You okay there?"

"Huh?" Sam looked over at him in surprise, before nodding dazedly. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking."

"Hope you haven't found any jobs in there." Dean shot him a grin as they pulled into the parking lot of the diner. "Because I seriously need to crash for a couple of nights." 

"No jobs." Sam folded the newspaper up, tossing it into the backseat. "We'll be good to stay here for a couple of days."

"Good." Dean cocked his eyebrows suggestively, earning him an eye-roll as the two got out of the car and headed towards the doors of the diner. Sam trailed a few steps behind his older brother, who all but _bounded_ into the diner like a puppy looking for his owner. 

She'd taken up the waitressing job a few months before everything had happened with Ana and Jake, and almost every time Sam and Dean ended up back in Wisconsin, they would also end up in the diner, sharing their least-grisly road trip stories with her as she alternated between serving them coffee and cleaning up after the last few customers to hang around. 

The diner was almost empty, as it always was at 9PM on a Tuesday night. Through the glass of the windows, they could spot Cheyenne serving the only customer in the joint, and Dean took the lead as he walked up to her. She'd just finished serving the customer, and had turned around to walk back behind the counter when Dean dropped into one of the booths by a window, looking over at her with an expectant grin on his face. 

Sam sighed good-naturedly, shaking his head slowly. He knew exactly what was coming - it was always the same. Dean was going to act like just a regular customer, and he was going to play the 'flirt with the waitress' game. Sometimes Cheyenne even played along. That night though, she hadn't spotted them as she'd headed back to the counter. 

"Hey sweetheart!" Dean called, waving his arm to get her attention. "What's a guy gotta do to get some service around here?"

The customer at the back of the diner looked up sharply at that, and Sam shot him an apologetic smile before turning back to his brother. "Dean, keep your voice down." 

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Cheyenne asked as she walked to their booth, coffee pot still in hand. Sam could see the smile on her face, and he knew tonight was going to be one of the nights she could be bothered to humour him. 

"You know, baby." Dean began, a shit eating grin on his lips. "The only thing hotter than the coffee in here is you." 

Sam couldn't help the ungraceful snort that caught the attention of the other customer again, and heard Cheyenne's laughter. "How would you like some of that hot coffee in your lap, stud?"

"Hey!" Dean held his hands up defensively, looking offended. "You're supposed to flirt back!"

"Only when the pick up lines are  _good_." She teased him with a smile, leaning down into the booth to give him a gentle kiss. "Didn't think you two would be back up here so soon."

"Work's been pretty light." Sam explained. "And the trail for Dad's gone... well, we passed cold a couple of months ago."

She shot him a sympathetic look. "Well, I get the impression you guys aren't going to find John until he wants to be found." 

"Yeah." Sam murmured, looking down at the table so as to avoid her gaze - or even worse, Dean's. They'd argued about the hunt for their father once already in the car, and he wasn't exactly prepared for another fight. Luckily, Cheyenne seemed to sense the tension, and changed the subject. 

"How about I get you two some grilled cheese sandwiches? I finish in an hour, and if you guys help me clean up we can just get out of here straight away."

"Sounds good, sweetheart." Dean shot her a gentle smile, his hand drifting to her thigh absent-mindedly. His fingers slid over her skin for a few seconds, almost like a form of self-comfort, and then his hand dropped onto the seat beside him as she turned to go get their food. When he looked back over at Sam, he shot him another smile. "We'll talk about Dad later, okay?"

Sam wasn't in the mood to argue, so he just nodded in response. When Cheyenne gave them their food and sat with them in the booth for a few minutes they started swapping stories, talking about the least gory aspects of the hunt in exchange for her stories about College. Not that Sam ever would have told Dean, but he loved hearing about her stories from College - it was almost as good as being back at Stanford with his old friends again. Just idle, normal,  _boring_  conversation. No monsters. 

Sam sat back a little in his seat, watching Dean wrap one arm around Cheyenne to pull her closer without even thinking about it, his forehead resting on her shoulder. They looked so happy together, like any other couple in Wisconsin that Sam was amazed by his brother's resilience. If he had the chance to go back and do things with Jess again, there would be no way he'd go back to Hunting.

Not for anything. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The promise of Dean quitting Hunting was almost too much for Cheyenne to handle, she realised. She daydreamed about him finally calling her to tell her it was over, to tell her he was coming  _home_. She thought about him walking through that door and letting it slam shut behind him without worrying about when he'd have to leave again. She dreamed about spending time together - not just stolen weekends where he'd constantly have to check his phone, but actual uninterrupted time together. Maybe they'd take another road trip, see all of those weird national treasures he'd heard about on the road from time to time. 

The fantasies only got more elaborate as time went on, and soon enough Cheyenne caught herself idly browsing wedding dress websites that night after they came back from the diner. Sam had opted for a motel room over staying at Cheyenne's apartment. Apparently the prospect of listening to them having sex was one of the worst punishments he could think of, so Dean had dropped him off before they'd gone back to her place.

"Okay, enough." She told herself sternly as she heard the shower shut off in the bathroom. After closing the website, she switched her laptop off and put it back on her desk, dropping back onto the bed with a content sigh. A few moments later Dean walked in, one towel slung low around his hips while the other covered his head. "I thought you'd drowned in there."

"It's a nice shower." He called, tossing the damp towel from his hair in her direction. "The ones in the motel are  _crap_."

"I feel kind of bad for Sam." She commented, twisting the towel in her hands slowly as he turned away from her. For a few seconds she waited as he reached into his bag for some underwear, and then when the towel dropped, she leaned forwards, whipping him quickly with a satisfying  _smack_. He yelped, grabbing his ass with one hand as he shot her an accusatory glare. 

" _Ow_." He said pointedly, pulling his boxers on quickly to defend himself from another attack. "Why do you feel bad for Sam?"

"Stuck in a crappy Motel in town while you get to live in the luxury of my apartment." She teased, tossing the towel aside as he approached the bed. 

"If that's the kind of treatment I'm going to get, I think I'd rather be in the Motel." Dean grinned, grabbing her ankle with one hand to stop her from wriggling away from her as he knelt on the bed. She recognised the look in his eye, and instantly tried to kick him off.

"Dean, don't you dare!"

From the foot of the bed, Dean shot her a grin that was  _pure evil_  before sliding his free hand under her shirt to start tickling her waist. She screamed, trying to wiggle away from him up the bed, but he crawled onto the bed properly, trapping her under his weight so she couldn't get away. "Not so fast, sweetheart."

"Dean, stop!" She cried out, struggling to breathe as she laughed. 

"Say Uncle." He moved one hand to the junction where her shoulder met her throat, chuckling as she arched her neck away from him, cursing loudly. "Your neighbours are gonna think I'm murdering you in here..."

"You... bastard..." She wheezed, squealing as his other hand joined the first at her neck. "Stop! Uncle,  _Uncle_!"

His hands stilled in an instant, and she finally relaxed against the bed, her breathing heavy. He knew how ticklish she was, knew exactly the right spots to touch in order for her to squeak and wriggle away from him. It was something he'd discovered accidentally one of the first times they'd had sex, when he'd ghosted his fingers across her hips lightly and she'd given an involuntary yelp and nearly hit him. Since then, it was something he'd taken a lot of pleasure in exploiting at every available opportunity. 

The sun was starting to dip outside, and it was casting a warm, golden glow in her bedroom that danced over her skin and lit up her eyes in a way he never thought he could get tired of. One hand raised slowly, coming to rest in her hair while he propped himself up with the other, smiling absentmindedly down at her. As he hung there above her, a drop of water rolled out of his hair, hitting her in the temple. 

"Just kiss me already." She teased gently, grinning up at him as she wiped the droplet of water off her forehead before stretching her arms out above her head. Dean did as he was told, leaning down and kissing her slowly, coaxing her lips apart with his. 

"I have a present for you." He whispered against her lips, pulling back a little to smile down at her. "Wait here a second."

Cheyenne propped herself up on her elbows as he scrambled off the bed, running out into the living room to his leather jacket, which he'd tossed onto the couch after arriving late the night before. When he came back in, his left fist was closed around something, and she raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Close your eyes. I promise you'll like it."

"I swear to God, Dean Winchester." She sighed, closing her eyes. "If you're holding a condom in your hand and this is your idea of seduction, you're sleeping on the couch."

The bed sank a little under his weight as he sat back down on the bed slowly, and he took her right hand gently. "It's  _not_ a condom. But thanks for the idea."

His voice was soft, and as he spoke Cheyenne felt him tie something around her wrist. When he let go of her hand and told her to open her eyes, she looked down to see a bracelet. 

She'd learned that Dean didn't say 'I love you' very often - not verbally at least. Instead, he said it in the things he did. He said it when he cooked her dinner while she was approaching her finals, making sure  showered and changed into clean clothes while he made her the most nutritious meal he could. He said it with the way he gave her old Ford Pickup a quick checkup every time he visited, working on it painstakingly any time she had even a minor complaint about it. He said it with the way he pulled her in close at night, wrapping the blankets around them before tucking her against his body. 

It was only a simple red string bracelet, a little darker than the one Ana had given her all those months before, and it didn't have the little wooden flower the old bracelet had sported, but to Cheyenne it was perfect. She stared down at it in silence for a few seconds, smiling as tears pricked at her eyes. Dean must have spotted them, because he quickly tried to explain himself. 

"I know we had to burn the old one, and I  _know_  this isn't going to ever be a replacement for that one, I know it never could be. But I saw how much it killed you to have to burn it like we did and I just thought..." He trailed off lamely, misreading her facial expression entirely, his shoulders slumping a little as he sighed. "You don't like it."

Finally, she looked up at him to meet his gaze properly, and he could see the smile on her lips. "I love it, Dean." 

"You do?" He breathed, still a little uncertain. "You're sure? I mean I know it's just a cheap, crappy little -"

Cheyenne cut him off with a kiss, with so much force behind her that she nearly sent him backwards. She didn't care how much it cost, she didn't care that it wasn't the exact same as the one she'd lost. None of that mattered to her at all, because to her, it was another way of Dean saying 'I love you'. 

She wore the bracelet every day for years until it physically fell off her wrist. Even then she refused to get rid of it, no matter how much Sam and Dean teased her about it. She kept it, just like she kept all the things that reminded her of him.


	22. Chapter 22

They fell back into their old routine in the months after Ana and Jake's deaths. He'd go on the road, Hunting with Sam while they looked for John, and she stayed at College, trying not to go insane from stress. Her finals came and went, but after graduation she couldn't face moving back to Oregon permanently, and with no Austin to go back to she decided to stay in Wisconsin. She picked up more hours waitressing at the diner while she figured out what she wanted to do, and when they were at a loose end for a job the boys would sometimes show up unannounced, always begging for coffee and a place to stay. And she'd always let them. 

It had been four months since he'd walked back into Cheyenne's life. Over the year he'd been gone, Cheyenne had tried time and time again to convince herself that everything was going to go back to normal, that she didn't need Dean to be happy. Eventually, after the nights spent staring at her bedroom ceiling, or crying herself to sleep that became true - Dean became a bittersweet memory, a ghost in her dreams. She'd buried her feelings for him so deeply in that little box at the back of her closet that she truly started to believe she was over everything. Of course, when she'd opened the door - half expecting it to be Jake's parents a day early - to see him again, she forgot all about that. Every single lie she'd told, whether it was to herself or to her friends, flew out of her head as soon as she saw him. When she saw his weak, apologetic smile, heard him say her name again for the first time in a year, felt his arms wrap around her in a tight hug, it all came back.

"What are you thinking about?" He whispered, pressing his lips to her shoulder. 

It was late. Or early, technically. Sam and Dean had only arrived a few hours earlier, and after she'd fixed them something to eat, Sam had passed out in the spare room while she and Dean went to bed. They laid awake for hours to talk - he told her about the latest job, she complained about work, and eventually he drifted off beside her. He was laying on his front, face buried in the gap between the pillows while one arm draped lazily over her stomach. She, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. She'd had the same recurring nightmare, the one that had started not long after Dean had shown back up on her doorstep. Normally she only got it while he was away on a Hunt, on the first night after they said goodbye, but tonight it had happened with him right beside her.

It was always the same. She'd be in her bedroom, clutching an empty blister pack of Prozac in one hand, and the baseball bat from under her bed in the other. Although nothing was especially wrong, she could feel the tremors of an oncoming anxiety attack all through her body. She wouldn't be sure why, but she felt nervous and sick and scared, and more than anything she wanted Dean. 

And then he would be there, in the corner of her room, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded. His eyes would be narrowed into a squint, his lips pursed until dimples appeared at the corner of his mouth, and his jaw would clench into one sharp, defined line. When she stood up, he'd push off the wall, folding his arms over his chest, shaking his head slowly. 

"I shouldn't have come come back."

It wouldn't matter what she'd say to him, it didn't matter that she begged him to stay, he'd always walk out of the room. She'd cry, she'd scream, she'd tell him that she needed him, that she was terrified without him, she'd even throw herself at him to try and get him to stay. None of it mattered though, every time he'd just push her away with his lip curling in disgust, and then he'd leave. 

Normally when she woke up from one of the nightmares, it would take her a minute to realise what had happened, that it had all been a dream, and then eventually she would settle back down. But tonight, after she jolted awake with a gasp only to turn her head and see him next to her, she'd just laid there staring up at the ceiling blankly. She was so zoned out she hadn't even heard him wake up. 

"Nothing." She lied. "Just can't sleep."

She was a fairly good liar - a consequence of her childhood - but Dean was even better, and knew when he was being lied to like some kind of savant. When she finally turned her head to look at him, she could see the skepticism even in the dark. "Want to talk about it?"

His voice was gravelly from sleep, but it was so soft and warm that she just about melted next to him in the bed. It was a world away from the coldness she heard in her dreams. "Just a dream. Nothing to worry about."

"Was it about your dad?" He asked quietly, propping himself up on his elbow. Beside him, Cheyenne stiffened, frowning. She'd never told him about the other recurring nightmare she'd had since she started college, of her father breaking down the door one night and hurting her in ways he hadn't done in years, but she knew he had his suspicions about it. 

"No." 

"Then what?" He whispered, touching her arm gently. The feeling of his warm fingertips grazing against her skin sent shivers down Cheyenne's spine, and she couldn't help but smile a little in spite of herself. It was just so good to have him in bed with her, to feel him next to her. If she was honest, a big part of her wanted to tell him everything, if only to get it off her chest. She wanted to tell him about the anxiety, about the nightmares, about the self doubt and self hatred. She wanted to tell him everything, but she didn't even know where to start. 

She opened her mouth to tell him about the anxiety medication, but she couldn't quite get the words out, and instead she cupped his jaw, kissed him gently and smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone slowly. "Just a stupid dream. It's okay."

"How long have you been awake?"

She gave a non-committal shrug in response, smiling gently at the concern that etched a line between his brows. "An hour maybe?"

"Should've woken me up." He shuffled closer to her before laying on his back and pulling her against his chest. Strong arms wound around her, holding her tightly as he cocooned her. "Could've kept you company."

"You're kind of a bitch when you get woken up." She reminded him with a teasing smile, pressing a kiss to his chest to let him know she wasn't (entirely) serious. "It's okay... I'll probably fall asleep soon."

It wasn't a lie. She slept better when his arms were around her, she always had done. There was something comforting about being wrapped up in his arms, something good about hearing his soft breathing as her eyes closed. 

She was asleep only a few minutes later, snoring gently against Dean's chest as he held her tightly, drawing small circles on her back with his thumb. 

 

 

 

"Are you sure you don't want lunch before you hit the road?" Cheyenne asked, frowning up at Sam. Dean was already downstairs packing their bags in the Impala. They'd only been over for a few days, but they'd found a job about 200 miles away, and so they had to leave earlier than expected. 

"I'm sure." He smiled gently. "We'll pick something up on the road, we just need to head off now."

"Well you need something." She mumbled, starting to dig through the cupboards for anything that she could give them as 'road fuel'. Sam shot her a warm smile as he watched her fuss, saying something about how they never took food for the road, and how she knew they would be hungry an hour after they set off. By the time Dean came back upstairs, she'd managed to pull a family pack of M&M's out of the back of her cupboard. 

"You don't need to feed us." He assured her with a small smile, one arm wrapping around her waist. "Besides, I already stole the pack of Twinkies you had in that cupboard for the road."

"Dick." She slapped his chest gently before pushing the bag into his hands, stretching up on her toes to give him a gentle kiss. "Call me when you get to a motel?"

"Of course I will." He smiled against her lips before pulling back a little to look at Sam, tossing him the food and the keys to the Impala. "Go start the engine, Sam. I'll be down in a second."

Sam caught the keys and the sweets, and after giving Cheyenne a quick hug he disappeared out into the hallway. Dean closed the door behind him with a gentle click, before turning back to Cheyenne with a small, humourless smile that he couldn't even hold for more than a few seconds. 

"What's wrong?" She asked quietly, running her hands up his chest slowly as he leaned up against the door, his arms around her waist. "You look tired."

Dean sighed heavily, frowning down at her. "Just been a long few weeks. Everything's kind of... building up I guess."

"Want to talk about it?" She suggested. 

"Want to talk about that nightmare?" He countered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a semi-smile. When she didn't respond, he kissed her forehead gently. "It's nothing, sweetheart. I promise."

"You both look stressed." Cheyenne wrapped her arms around his neck slowly, leaning into him a little more. "Are you sure you can't put off the job, or give it to someone else?"

"I wish I could." Dean bumped his nose against hers, inhaling slowly. "You've got no idea how much I wish I could. But we're getting close to Dad. I think we're getting close to finishing this."

She could feel her heart speed up at that. The thought of him walking back into her apartment, kicking his feet up and telling her it was all over was almost too much to handle. There was nothing she wanted more than to have him finally crawl into bed with her and not have to leave the next morning. "Really?"

"I think so." He whispered. "I hope so."

There was nothing she could say to that. Nothing she could think of. Instead, she just kissed him, pressing herself up against his chest as she desperately tried to show him instead of tell him. His grip on her waist tightened as he kissed her back, and then slowly, he pulled away a little, groaning. "I still have to go..."

"I know." She smiled gently, her lips ghosting over his. "Go, it's okay. Just call me later."

"I will." Dean smiled gently, kissing her forehead as he opened the door again. She watched him turn and was away, disappearing down the hallway, and then a few minutes later, she heard the rumble of the Impala as it pulled out of the parking lot. When Cheyenne closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, she couldn't help the smile on her lips.

It was almost over.

 

 

 

He and Sam had only been gone about three hours when she heard the knock at the door. For a brief moment, she thought they'd just swung back around and come back to her apartment to stay another night (it wouldn't have been the first time) but as she approached the door, she had a feeling that it wasn't. Without bothering to check the peep-hole, Cheyenne pulled the door open, and was surprised at who she found on the other side. It wasn't Dean.

It was John.

Cheyenne stared at him for a few seconds in shock, completely immobile. "John? What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Cheyenne." His voice was soft, and when he took a step forward, she was surprised at how he looked. John had always looked rugged and exhausted, like he'd just gone ten rounds with a boxer before downing half a bottle of whiskey, but that night he looked worse than she remembered. 

His hair was longer than when they'd last met, and judging by how greasy it was, he was about four days out from his last shower. His beard had grown out a little more, and it looked more grey than it had done the year before. One thing hadn't changed though: the stench of stale alcohol that rolled off him in waves. Cheyenne hadn't missed that smell. 

"You look good." He smiled weakly, but she didn't return it. 

"What are you doing here, John?" She repeated the question, her hand still on the door in case she needed to slam it shut in his face. He'd clearly noticed her apprehension, because his facial expression softened, and when he spoke again it was more gentle than she'd ever heard before. 

"I just wanted to talk to you." He said quietly, easing his way into the apartment without her invitation until he was stood next to her, and she had no choice but to let him in properly and close the door behind him. "It's about Dean."

"What about Dean?" She asked sharply, already on the defensive. Their last conversation about her relationship with his son hadn't exactly gone smoothly.

John smiled weakly. "I know the two of you are back together, and I just... Wanted to say I'm happy for you both. I know how good you were for each other."

"You drove all the way up here to tell me that?" She cocked an eyebrow sceptically, folding her arms. "You boys really don't know how to pick up a phone, do you?"

She half expected him to snap at her for that, and held her breath for a second. Instead, he simply chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "I see why he likes you so much."

For a few moments they stood there in silence, with John looking at her as she stared back, still incredibly confused and more than a little uncomfortable. Eventually, she asked again, a little softer this time. "What are you doing here, John?"

"I uh..." He rubbed a hand over his face, across the greying stubble. "This is hard to explain. How much do you know about Mary?"

Dean had told her a few things about his mother. He told her that she used to tell him angels were watching him as she tucked him in at night, he told her she used to sing him Hey Jude instead of a lullaby, and he'd shown her the one tattered old picture he had. He'd also told her a little bit about the fire, but his memories were understandably hazy. "A little. Not much."

"You know about Jessica?"

"Sam's girlfriend." She said quietly. On more than one occasion, Cheyenne had stayed up late with Sam, who was eager to check how she was coping with Ana and Jake's deaths. The concern was touching, and the two often sat up on the couch together, swapping stories about the loved ones they'd lost. 

"Well we think we're getting close to the thing that killed them." 

Her heart began to beat just a little faster at the sound of that. Of course, she'd heard it from Dean only a few hours earlier but she hadn't really let herself believe it. When she'd heard it from him, she'd figured it was just empty words of comfort - for himself as well as for her. If John really though it though, after all this time, then they had to be getting close. 

"This is all going to be over?" She whispered and the older man nodded slowly, dragging his fingers through messy dark hair. 

"Listen..." He began with a heavy sigh. "I don't know how much Dean's told you about me, but I wasn't... The best father to those boys. I took my kids out with me on the road, and I turned them into soldiers. I didn't even give them a chance. I know that."

A flare of anger lit up inside Cheyenne at the words, but she pushed it back down. She'd been told by Sam and by Dean all about childhood on the road. Dean had always tried to put a good spin on things, tell her that he didn't mind moving around, but Sam had been a little more honest. She couldn't imagine the two of them as little kids, dumped in a motel room on their own to fend for themselves while John worked a job. She didn't want to imagine it. Instead, she kept silent and let him continue. 

"But despite all of that, they turned out pretty well." He smiled fondly. "I'm... Proud of them. Both of them.  I know I didn't tell them that enough, and maybe I should've, but I am. Always have been."

Cheyenne was getting more and more uncomfortable, and for a second she wondered how much the older Hunter had drunk during the day. "What's going on, John?"

"This is gong to be dangerous." He said quietly, looking down at the counter. "We're probably not going to make it out of this alive, not all of us."

He let his words hang in the air between them for a few seconds, before speaking again. "If I die doing this... They're going to need you. They won't tell you, I mean those two are the most stubborn damn kids I've ever met... But they'll need you. Don't let them pull away, don't let them break down over this. I need them to be strong, after all of this." 

Finally, John turned to look at her fully, the ghost of a sad smile on his lips. "I know how much Dean loves you. Can see it on his face whenever he talks about you - I could see it when you were together before. If you love him even half as much, you'll be there for him if this goes to Hell. Sam too."

"What are you saying?" She whispered as she took a step closer, trying to ignore the stench of stale alcohol. "What do you think is going to happen?"

For a moment, John struggled to come up with an answer. Admitting uncertainty was an unfamiliar concept to him. "I don't know. That's what scares me. I just... I need to know that if this goes wrong, my boys will have someone to turn to. I need to know you'll be there for them."

Cheyenne was taken aback. This was a world away from the John who'd told her - under no uncertain terms - that if push came to shove, Dean would always choose Hunting over her, that she could always be a secondary responsibility. "Of course I will."

His broad shoulders slumped with relief at her words, and for a moment, his smile was genuine. "Good. Thank you."

"Where are you going?" She asked as he walked past her, back towards the door. John tossed her another small smile as he opened the door. 

"Still got plenty of work to do, Sweetheart."

And then, just as suddenly as he'd appeared in her apartment, John was gone.


	23. Chapter 23

The phone call from Sam came about a month after John had shown up unannounced at her apartment. Since that day, she'd been struggling over whether or not to tell Dean about his surprise appearance, and every time he called her to talk late at night she'd open her mouth to ask him why John would have shown up at her door like he did. She never asked though, she always thought better of it at the last second. Instead she'd ask how things were going, if he thought they were getting closer or not. With every phone call he'd sound more and more tired, but there was always that little bit of hope in his voice, especially when she mentioned any plans for after he was done Hunting. 

It was early - very early - on a Thursday morning when Sam called her. It came as a surprise; for all of the times that Dean phoned her, Sam had never called. She answered the phone, a little confused. "Sam it's like 2AM... Is everything alright?"

His voice cracked when he said her name, and it took him a few seconds to get anything else out. His breathing was shaky, and when he explained what happened, she could hear tears wavering in his voice. "We're at the hospital."

Cheyenne barely registered anything after that. She managed to pick up bits and pieces, but it was like her brain had shut off. They'd been hunting the Demon. There was a car crash. Dean was in a coma. 

 _They didn't know if he was going to wake up_.

She didn't hear anything after that, not after her cell phone clattered to her bedroom floor and she dropped to her knees, her head in her hands. "No, no no... God, please no..."

As she crouched there, sobbing into her carpet she vaguely registered Sam's voice calling her name, but she ignored him. She couldn't -  _couldn't_  - think of him laying there in the hospital bed, dying. She'd lived without him for a year and that had been hard enough. She couldn't lose him forever. 

The journey from Madison to Memphis was supposed to take nine hours. Cheyenne did it in six. Once she'd picked herself up off the floor of her room and gotten into her Ford she'd broken every speed limit she passed, getting up to over 100 miles an hour on the interstate. The road ahead blurred through her tears, but she didn't slow down. She had to get to him. 

It was almost 9AM when she burst into his hospital room, her breathing heavy and tears staining her cheeks. Sam, who'd been sat in the corner of the room hunched up in an armchair, sprung to his feet as she ran in. "Cheyenne..."

Dean was laying on the bed, his chest rising and falling in time with the gentle wheezing of the ventilator beside his bed. There was a large gash on his forehead over his right eye, and bruises peppered his skin, although he'd been cleaned up since they'd brought him to the hospital. "Oh my God... Sam is he..."

The younger Winchester caught her off-guard in a tight hug, which she accepted gratefully. It wasn't quite like a hug from Dean, but Sam was so much taller than her that he enveloped her easily, tucking her into his chest as his chin came to rest on the top of her head. "Thank God you're here."

She couldn't speak. There was so much she wanted to say, but no way she could really put her feelings into words. Instead she just burst into tears, burying her face into Sam's shirt as she sobbed, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as he held her close. "He c-can't..."

She wasn't entirely sure what Sam was saying, but she could hear him murmuring softly as he hugged her tightly, tears rolling down his cheeks too. After having to deal with John, and how little he seemed to care about the fact that his eldest son was dying, it almost felt good to have someone who was hurting as much as him. It was good to know he wasn't alone.

They stood like that for a few minutes, both trying to comfort each other, but neither one feeling any more secure. Eventually, Cheyenne's tears stopped, and Sam let go of her, wiping his own tears with the back of his sleeve. He had a black eye that was swollen until it was almost completely shut, and scrapes over his face that looked painful, but other than that, he seemed to have walked away from the crash relatively unharmed. 

"You drove all night." Sam whispered, clearing his throat. "I should... I'll get you some coffee. I'll be right back, okay?"

When he was gone, Cheyenne pulled up a chair next to the bed, lacing her fingers with Dean's slowly. If she could ignore the tubes sticking out of him, the IV drip he was hooked up to and all of the cuts and bruises over his skin, it was almost as if he was just asleep. "Hey baby..." 

His heart rate monitor beeped steadily behind her as she leaned over a little bit, holding his hand up a little bit to press her lips to his knuckles. "I don't know if you can hear me... God, I hope you can..."

Her free hand came to rest in his hair, stroking it back from his face slowly as she talked, her voice thick with tears. "You promised you wouldn't leave again, Dean. You promised me you wouldn't. Please, I can't... I can't lose you again. I need you, Dean."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean watched her from across the room. He'd heard her voice down the corridor, and he'd followed it back to the hospital room, passing Sam on the way. She was sat next to him, practically leaning over the bed as she whispered to him. He could see the tears shining on her cheeks, rolling down to drip from her jaw and stain the bedsheets. He wondered for a second if she'd cried like this the night he'd walked out on her, and a pang of guilt ran through him like an electric shock.  

"Please wake up..." She begged, sniffing. 

He crossed the room slowly, crouching beside her and looking up into her eyes. He'd promised her this would be over soon, that he would be able to go back to Wisconsin with her and he'd never have to leave again. He'd laid awake at night with her, talking about all of the road trips they would take together while she fell asleep to the sound of his voice. He'd spent hours alone in motels across the country while Sam snored in the bed beside him, allowing himself to finally start thinking about having a future with her. None of that was going to happen if he died here in this hospital bed and left her. Again. She'd lost so much that year alone, he couldn't bear to think about her having to lose him too.

She couldn't hear him, he knew that. But he wanted more than anything to be able to let her know how he felt, how sorry he was. Hesitantly, Dean reached out to rest his hand on her knee, frowning when it sank straight through, like he was cutting through a hologram. 

Her sniffing stopped, and her body stiffened in an instant. For a moment, Cheyenne just stared down at her knee in confusion before she let go of his hand and reached down to touch two fingers to her knee, right on the spot Dean had tried to lay his hand a moment before. Dean stared up at her, his heart racing. "Did you feel that?"

Dean tried to rest his hand over hers again, his fingers sliding straight through her skin and knee. Cheyenne shivered visibly, sucking in a shaky breath as she brushed her fingers the spot over her knuckles he had tried to touch. For a few seconds, she didn't say anything, but her eyes darted around the spot of the room just in front of her that he was crouched. "Dean?"

" _Yes_." He breathed, leaning up to try and cup her cheeks, his hands sinking right through her skin. She shuddered under his touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment. "I'm right here, Chey..."

"Is that you?" She croaked, blinking back tears. "Are you here?"

"I'm right here." He whispered, knowing full well there was no way she could hear him. Cheyenne sniffed, trying to wipe her eyes as she heard footsteps in the corridor. Sam was back with coffee, his face still lined with worry as he walked in. 

"How're you holding up?" He whispered, passing her a coffee, which she accepted with shaky hands. She could still feel the faint ghost of Dean's touch on her skin, which she couldn't shake. When she looked to the spot next to her, there was no one there. 

"Sam..." She croaked, wiping tears from her eyes. "This is going to sound crazy, but bear with me..."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was one of the weirder things Sam had ever done, he decided as he marched through the hospital with a Ouija Board tucked under his arm. Despite everything he knew about the supernatural world, he'd never really bought into the myth of Ouija Boards. After what Cheyenne had explained had happened, Sam had told her about the glass that had flown off the table and shattered during the argument with John, and then about the voice he could have sworn he'd heard while Dean went into cardiac arrest. They came to the same conclusion: somehow, Dean was communicating with them.

The Ouija Board had been Cheyenne's suggestion - an idea Sam could almost hear his older brother scoff at. Nonetheless, given everything that had happened, Sam was eager to try it, and the two had gone to a nearby toy store to try and hunt one down. When they'd found one and returned to the hospital room, Cheyenne had asked the nurses for some privacy, informed them that they would call if there were any changes, and locked the door behind them while Sam set the board up. 

"He's probably laughing at us right now." Sam chuckled humourlessly as he sat cross legged on the floor, setting the planchette down. Cheyenne joined him, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands as she shivered. "You okay?"

"It's a little creepy, Sam." She pointed out, motioning around the room. "Even if it is just Dean."

Sam cocked his head to one side, a little amused. "You believe in these things?"

"You  _don't_?" She countered, raising an eyebrow. "With everything you know?"

"Well..." He smiled gently, looking back down at the board. "Most of the spirits we meet aren't exactly interested in civil conversation." 

"Touché." Cheyenne murmured, thinking back to her encounters with Eloise and McGinley. Neither of them had exactly ended well. "The two I met tried to kill me." 

"They aren't all bad." Sam pointed out gently. "Some of them are just... lost, I think. They're alone and scared, like wounded animals. And as time goes on they get more and more angry, or hurt. And then they start to lash out, start to hurt other people."

They stared at each other in the darkness of the hospital room, the silence only broken by the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor beside Dean's bed. Neither of them wanted to voice what they were both thinking - if Dean was to die, there was a chance he could turn out like any of the other angry spirits they'd met. 

Sam was the first to speak. "We should get started."

Cheyenne nodded in agreement, shuffling a little closer to the board and touching two fingers to the planchette. Sam mimicked her movements, inhaling slowly. "Dean... Are you there?"

Nothing happened for a second, and beside him, Sam felt Cheyenne's shoulders sag a little. Then, slowly, the planchette began to slide across the board, coming to a stop over the word 'yes.' There was a sharp intake of breath - Sam wasn't sure whether it came from him or from Cheyenne - and then he heard her voice. "Tell me it wasn't you that moved it."

"It wasn't." He whispered shakily, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that it physically  _hurt_. "That was him."

Without asking another question, the planchette was moving again. They waited with bated breath as it started to spell out a word, before Sam let it out with a shaky breath. He'd spelled 'Hunt'. "There's a job here? Do you know what it is?"

The planchette slowly moved towards R, and then continued across the board to spell out 'Reaper.' 

"Reaper?" Cheyenne whispered, looking over at Sam. "Like... The Grim Reaper?"

"Something like that." He whispered. Suddenly the relief he'd felt in knowing his brother was trying to communicate with them had disappeared. "Is it coming after you?"

There was a pause, and then the planchette moved to hover over 'yes.' Sam backed away from the board, shaking his head as he got to his feet. "No. No, that's not possible."

"A reaper is coming after Dean?" Cheyenne hadn't moved from her space by the board, her fingers still lingering on the planchette as if it was some way she could stay close to him. "What does that mean?"

Sam was pacing behind her, running his fingers through his hair and barely resisting the urge to throw a chair through the window and out into the parking lot below. Something was bubbling inside of him - it wasn't quite rage, but it was something different. He was angry, he was frustrated, he was hurting. All he wanted to do was scream at something. 

There was no way Dean could be dying. His brother, the man who'd carried him out of a fire when was only four years old, and had spent every day since that looking out for him  _could not be dying._  Even as he looked at Dean's body in the hospital bed, at the breathing tubes sticking out of his mouth and nose, Sam refused to believe it. 

"Dad'll know what to do." He looked down at Cheyenne, who still hadn't moved. "He'll know what we can do to save him, he'll think of something."

Then he was off, running down the hallway with Cheyenne struggling to chase after him as she called his name. "Sam, wait!"

His long legs - impossibly long legs - carried him down the hallway a lot faster than she could manage, and by the time she caught up to him he'd already come to a stop outside his father's room. She skidded to a halt beside him, breathing heavily as she caught onto his arm for support and calling him an asshole as quietly as she could manage. He didn't react at her words though; he was too focused on what was in John's room. Or rather, what  _wasn't_  in John's room.

Namely, John himself. 

"You have to be kidding me." Sam breathed, glaring down at the empty bed and rumpled sheets accusingly, as if they could give him some indication of where his father had gone, while Cheyenne checked the ensuite bathroom. When he was nowhere to be found, the two just stared at each other for a  few moments. 

"I'm going to kill him." Sam muttered, his jaw clenching tightly as he looked around the empty room, almost as if he expected John to jump out from behind the arm chair in the corner and yell 'surprise!' "I'm going to  _kill_  him."

"Sam, what the hell's going on?" She whispered, crossing the room to stand next to him. Seeing him like this, almost white with anger made her realise just how similar he was to his brother. The facial expressions, the way their lips curled back into a grimace as they spoke, all of it was the same. Had the situation been any different, and had Dean not been dying down the hallway, she would have told him. 

"He's gone after the Demon." He grunted, walking away from her to start digging through his father's bag for something. As he looked, he explained that John was still hell-bent on finding the Demon that killed their mother and his girlfriend, and wasn't going to put the Hunt on hold, even if it killed his oldest son. Sam told her about how John had  _promised_  him he would stop Hunting the Demon until they knew Dean was better, but that clearly he'd been lying. 

"I should've known." Sam muttered darkly, finally pulling a tattered journal out of the bag and brandishing it in one hand. "I should've known that selfish son of a bitch couldn't think about Dean for one  _God-Damn_  second..."

He'd progressed from angry to furious in a matter of seconds, and Cheyenne was almost convinced he was going to throw a punch at any medical personnel who came close, so she tried to calm him down. As she approached him, with her arms up a little to show him she wasn't a threat, she spoke softly. "Sam... It's going to be okay."

His shoulders sagged almost as soon as she laid a gentle hand on his arm, giving it a sympathetic squeeze as she continued talking. "We'll find John before he does something stupid, and we'll find a way to help Dean get the Reaper off his back. Even if I have to play Blue Öyster Cult out of the hospital speakers for the rest of the day."

Sam inhaled shakily at that, and managed a half-hearted smile for her benefit, before nodding. She smiled gently, giving his arm another squeeze. "You think there's something in that journal that can help Dean?"

"Yeah." He whispered, looking down at the book in his hand. "It's Dad's journal. Everything he knows about Hunting is in here."

"Okay, good." She said softly. "Well you take that and go see if you can find something to help Dean. I'll look for John."

For a second, Sam made a move as if he was about to hug her, and then thought better of it. His hands hung loosely by his sides instead. "Thank you. For all of this."

"Don't mention it." She whispered, shooting him the most encouraging smile she could muster before heading out of the room in search of John.


	24. Chapter 24

Cheyenne wasn't sure how long she'd looked for John, but by the time she headed back to Dean's room it had gotten dark outside. She'd searched every room of every floor, barged her way into more men's bathrooms than she wanted to think about, but she still couldn't find him. Reluctantly, she decided to head back to the room and find out if Sam had had any more luck with the journal. 

The room was dark when she got to the doorway. Sam hadn't bothered to turn on the main lights, only the lamp by the side of Dean's bed, which bathed him in a sickly orange glow, and only highlighted the deep gash on his forehead, darkening the shadows around his eyes until they were just two black pits, unrecognisable from where Cheyenne was stood.

 Sam was stood at the foot of his brother's bed, his head hanging low as he spoke. "You can't give up man, not now. There's so much we've still got to do, I mean... We were just starting to be brothers again."

For a moment, she considered leaving and giving them some space. She couldn't help but feel like she was intruding, but when Sam raised his head and spotted her in the doorway his face broke out into a hopeful smile. "Did you find him?"

"No." She whispered, frowning as she walked inside and closed the door behind her. She didn't need to ask how his work on the journal had gone. It was obvious from his red-rimmed eyes to his hoarse, tear choked voice that he'd found nothing. "What now?"

"I don't know." He barely managed to get the words out, his voice shaking. "I don't know how to help him. He was always..."

Sam broke off to take an unsteady breath in, which dissolved into a low groan. "He was always the one I could count on for stuff like this, he was always there. He'd always tell me things were going to be fine, that he was going to keep me safe, that he'd f-figure something out and now -"

By the time she'd crossed the room, Sam had broken down entirely. His shoulders heaved with tears as he sank to his knees, his forehead resting against the foot of the bed as he sobbed. Cheyenne dropped to her knees too, pulling him into her arms as he wailed like a wounded animal. For all the tears he'd shed through the day, there had always been that glimmer of hope holding him together. He'd truly believed there would be something to save his brother, that they'd find something in the journal, or that John would come up with a plan. Now, with the journal useless and John missing, there was no hope. His brother was dying, and he couldn't save him. After everything they'd been through together, after everything they'd given up for this job, Dean was going to die. 

Cheyenne sat with him, stroking his hair back from his face and soothing him as best she could while he sobbed in her arms. He wasn't even sure what he was saying, but as he buried his face into her shirt he babbled about Dean, about how he'd tried to save him but he just wasn't good enough, about how sorry he was. There was nothing she could say to make him feel better, and eventually it got too hard to try and hold it together for him, so they just sat there on the floor of Dean's hospital room, sobbing as they hugged each other. Eventually, they couldn't cry any more, and they just sat there in silence, staring into middle distance, with only the sound of his respirator and heart monitor for company.

"I don't want him to die." Sam croaked, his voice muffled in her shirt. With agonising slowness, he dragged himself up into a sitting position so that he was next to her, their backs against the bed. 

"Neither do I." She whispered. 

"I don't know what I'd do without him." Sam shook his head slowly, looking down at his lap. "I didn't see him at all while I was at Stanford, and that whole time I tried to convince myself that I would be fine, that I didn't need him or dad." 

He sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve before shooting her a guilty look. "I spent a long time trying to ignore him, trying to forget about him."

"Do you regret that?"

"God yes." He groaned, shaking his head. "I wish I could go back and apologise. I wish I hadn't spent all that time being pissed at him. I was just so...  _angry_  at Dad. And I took it out on the wrong person, pulled him into all of it, I got him caught up in the middle of it."

"You know he wasn't angry with you, right?" She whispered. "He talked about you a little bit... Not much, but a little."

Sam looked over at her in surprise. "He did?"

"Yeah." She smiled sadly at the memory of Dean stretched out on her bed, talking about his younger brother fondly. "He wanted to go see you, I think. He missed you a lot."

"Did he talk about the fight?" Sam asked. 

"Once." She nodded slowly, turning her head a little so she could look up at him. "But he didn't tell me much, only that you and John got into an argument the night you left for College." 

"Hell of an argument..." Sam whispered, dropping his gaze. In the semi-darkness of the room, she reached for his hand to give it a comforting squeeze. "And then I didn't see him for years because of it." 

"You got a year together though." Her voice trembled as she spoke. She hated talking about him like this, in the past tense. As if he wasn't in the room with them. "And at the end of the day... That was a-all he w-wanted..."

She couldn't stop the few fresh tears that rolled down her cheeks, not that Sam blamed her. Just like when they'd been at George's house, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug, hoping it was at least a little comforting. 

"I should've stopped him from leaving last year." She croaked, sniffing. "I should've called him out on his bullshit, told him to turn the car around and come back. But I was so angry when he told me he was ending things I just... Hung up on him."

"Dean has that effect on women." Sam chuckled tearfully, wiping his eyes. "So don't worry."

"I think I was still a little angry when he showed back up with you." She admitted. "But it just felt so good to see him again after all that time..."

"I know how you feel." He whispered. He'd been pissed as hell when Dean had shown up at his apartment that night in front of Jess, but a little part of him had been glad to see his dumb big brother.

Suddenly, from up on the bed, they heard a gasp, and then the sound of Dean choking. They were on their feet in seconds to see him writing around in the bed, choking around the ventilation tube down his throat, his eyes wide with shock. He was awake.

"Help!" Sam yelled to the nurses in the hallway. "We need some help in here!"

Two nurses rushed to Dean's bedside, and a third ushered the two of them out, much to Sam's protestations. "Sir, I  _know_  he's your brother, and I understand that you both want to be there, but we need to take the breathing tubes out before you can go back in."

With that, the door slammed shut behind her, and the two of them were left out in the corridor, staring at each other in shock. 

Somehow, Dean was back. 

 

* * *

 

 

"You're making me nervous." Cheyenne murmured from her seat. Sam stopped pacing for a brief moment, shooting the still-locked hospital door a surly glance. Then he was off again, pacing the hallway back and forth. "Sam, stop it."

"They should be done by now. Something's gone wrong."

"We would have heard them call for a crash cart if something had happened to him." She pointed out, sitting up a little straighter in her seat. "They're probably checking his vitals."

"They've been in there for nearly twenty minutes, Cheyenne."

"And he has a head injury,  _Sam_." She said sharply, mocking his tone. For a few seconds they glared at each other, before Sam's facial expression softened and he took the seat beside her. 

"Sorry." He mumbled, wringing his hands. 

"It's okay." She whispered, placing one hand on top of his lightly. "It's been a long day, I get it."

"Shouldn't be taking it out on you." He pointed out, and she shrugged, smiling gently. 

"Would it make you feel any better if I called you an asshole again?" She joked, but before he could answer the door finally swung open, and the same nurse that had pushed them into the hallway ushered them back inside. 

After the nurses filtered out and left them alone with him, they hung in the doorway, almost as if they were worried stepping inside the room would send him back into the coma. From his bed, Dean smiled up at them weakly. "You two comin' or going?"

"You scared the crap out of me, man." Sam whispered, still frozen in place. Dean chuckled lightly, wincing a little as he shifted in the bed. 

"Hey, it's payback for all the times you did it to me." He pointed out, lifting his arms up a little. "Come on, I just cheated death over here.  _Someone_  is going to have to hug me, right?"

Sam was the first to move, leaving Cheyenne still rooted in place by the door as he went to hug his older brother. When Dean looked over at her expectantly, she finally managed to stumble over to the bed, willing herself to not start crying again. 

"I thought you were dead." She whispered, reaching out to touch him hesitantly. Dean grabbed hold of her hand, squeezing it with a grin before using it to tug her closer. 

"You won't be getting rid of me that easily, sweetheart." He assured her as she perched on the edge of the bed and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his lips, almost as if she was afraid he'd collapse under her touch. "Miss me?"

"You've got no idea." She said quietly, frowning up at him. He caught the look in her eye and sighed heavily, cupping the back of her head with one hand. 

"Well it sure is good to see you." He admitted, managing a smile for her before looking up at Sam. "I don't even remember what happened..."

"We were in a car crash." He explained quietly, still in disbelief that his brother was alive and awake in front of him. "After the Demon. We got flown here, and you were... You were comatose, man. But it was like you were communicating with us. You... smashed a glass, you yelled at _something..."_

"Touched my leg." Cheyenne added with a small smile. "Don't you remember anything?"

Dean shook his head slowly, looking between the two of them with a frown. "How'd I do all of that?"

"No idea." Sam said quietly. "But there was this... Reaper. Here in the hospital, we think it was after you."

"After me?" He echoed, raising an eyebrow. "How'd I ditch it?"

"No idea, man." Sam smiled gently. "But hey, I'm not complaining."

Dean didn't look convinced, and Cheyenne caught the frown as he looked down at the bed. "What is it? You remember something?"

"No." He whispered, still looking at the bed. "It's just this weird... Pit in my stomach. I don't know, I feel like... Something's wrong."

Cheyenne and Sam shared a look over his head, but neither of them had time to question it as John shuffled into the hospital room, looking exhausted. A weary smile broke out across his face as he saw the three of them. "Hey, son."

Dean didn't get the chance to respond. Sam had bristled with anger the second his father walked into the room, and Cheyenne practically saw his chest swell as he took a step forward. "Where the hell were you last night? Were you Hunting the Demon? While we were here with Dean?"

"No, Sammy." John said quietly, leaning against the doorframe. "I wasn't."

The answer didn't seem to placate Sam at all as he took another step towards his father. Behind her, Cheyenne felt Dean tense up. He sensed a fight coming - hell, with what she'd seen so far between Sam and John, she did too. 

"Why don't I believe you?" Sam spat, his eyes flashing with anger. For a second, Cheyenne thought John was going to argue back, but instead he just shot his younger son a sad smile, limping into the room a little more. 

"Can we not fight?" He whispered, looking between his two sons imploringly, his dark eyes almost begging them. "I mean, half the time we're fighting, I don't even know what it's about."

He cast Cheyenne a glance before continuing, looking back up at Sam. "You know, I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could with you two... I just... I don't want to fight anymore, okay?"

Sam seemed taken aback by the reaction, and beside her, Cheyenne felt Dean relax a little. Whatever fight had been brewing, John had managed to put out. Sam's shoulders slackened, and he nodded uncertainly, agreeing. "Okay, Dad."

The four of them sat in silence for a moment, with John's eyes uncharacteristically warm as he looked between his children. His gaze finally came to rest on Cheyenne, and he shot her a knowing look. They hadn't seen each other or spoken since the night he'd shown up at her apartment, but he knew she was thinking about it. "Cheyenne, why don't you and Sam grab us some caffeine, huh? It's been a hell of a night."

She hopped off the bed, giving Dean one last quick smile. "Sure, we'll be right back."

Sam walked out ahead of her, and as Cheyenne passed John she couldn't help but stop and look at him for just a moment. That same sad, longing look that she'd seen back in her apartment was back in his eyes as they made eye contact, and for a second she paused. "I'm glad you're okay, John. It's good to see you again."

"Thanks, sweetheart. It's good to see you again too." He smiled gently, watching as she and Sam walked out into the hall before turning back to Dean's bed. As they walked away from the room they could hear the two of them begin talking, but the words were imperceivable. 

"How're you holding up?" Cheyenne asked Sam quietly as they stopped at the coffee machine. He shrugged, focusing on making his order. 

"It's good that Dean's alive but..." He paused, trying to figure out a way to choose his words. "Do you think Dad's acting a little weird?"

She shrugged it off. "I think he's just glad you two are okay. Maybe this whole thing scared some sense into him." 

"That doesn't sound like him." Sam whispered, picking up his father's coffee while Cheyenne made her own. "He really doesn't seem weird to you?"

Cheyenne thought about it. She'd only met John Winchester twice, and he'd been very different on both occasions. One time he'd been cold, focused. The next time he'd almost seemed as though he was on the verge of breaking down right there in her kitchen. 

"You know what?" She said with a soft smile. "I think the Winchester boys just really  _suck_  at telling people how they feel. So go take your dad a coffee, hug it out, and thank me later. I'm gonna go make sure Dean doesn't start picking out his stitches."

Sam chuckled in spite of himself, nodding. "Okay, Cheyenne. Thanks for the advice."

Cheyenne watched him go, smiling to herself. After the shitty day she'd had, all she wanted to do was slide into a bubble bath (preferably with Dean, if not for the fact that he was currently held together with surgical sutures) and then crawl into bed to sleep for a year. She took a sip of her scaldingly hot coffee, wincing at the bitter taste for a second before heading back to Dean's room. Knowing him, he was already picking at the stitches on his forehead. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

She wasn't sure how it happened. One minute she was sat on Dean's bed with him, all but cuddled up in his lap as she drank her coffee. The next, she, Dean and Sam were huddled together in the doorway of John's room as the doctors desperately tried to resuscitate him. He'd seemed absolutely fine only a few minutes before when they'd talked, but less than ten minutes later the three of them stood there as the doctor called his time of death out like he was reading the news. 

The next few days had been a blur. Cheyenne barely remembered what happened immediately afterwards, but at some point she and Sam had found motel rooms close to the hospital, and when Dean was discharged the day after, they claimed John's body. None of them spoke as the drove to an abandoned farm she and Sam had found earlier, and set up a funeral pyre for John - a Hunter's Burial. 

She'd half expected Sam to be silent while Dean sobbed, but as they stood in front of the burning body, it was Sam she had to comfort. He tried to hide it at first, but as the flames engulfed his father's body he started crying beside her, and Cheyenne had to pull him into a hug. Dean meanwhile was completely stoic as he stared into the fire. She thought she saw a tear roll down his cheek, but in the darkness it was hard to tell. Neither of them spoke through the makeshift funeral. Sam tried to say something a couple of times through his tears, but it was mostly unintelligible, so she just shushed him gently in the hopes it would knock some kind of a reaction out of Dean. 

There was nothing. He barely seemed to register either of them as he stared at his father's corpse, barely even blinking despite the smoke that filled the air. She didn't even get a reaction when she touched his hand gently, so she just went back to comforting Sam instead. 

They were back at the motel before he even said a word to her, and even then she had to pry it out of him. When she'd said goodnight to Sam at his room, and closed the motel door behind them he still wouldn't even look at her. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Dean."

"What?" He said gruffly, dumping his duffel bag on far table. She sighed, approaching him slowly and laying a hand on his shoulder. He tensed up under her touch for a second, before slowly turning around. 

"Talk to me." She whispered, looking up at him in the poorly lit room. Only one of the bulbs above them worked, and it cast a pale glow across the room.

"There's nothing to talk about, Cheyenne." He muttered, trying to push past her to get to the bathroom. She stepped in front of him again, blocking his path and ignoring the noise that came out of his mouth which sounded damn close to a growl. 

"We just buried your father, Dean. I think there's a lot to talk about."

"No." He snapped, physically pushing her to the side with one hand to get past. "There isn't. Let me go to the bathroom, Jesus Christ."

The door slammed shut behind him, and Cheyenne paused for a second, to wait and see if he would come back out. When she didn't hear the sound of any running water she followed him in, and found him sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring into middle distance. Slowly, he looked up at her, his eyes narrowing a little. 

"I want to be left alone." Dean ground out, his jaw clenching a little as he met her gaze

"No you don't." She said matter-of-factly. "If you did, you'd have checked into your own room."

"Oh, you think you  _know_  what I want, all of a sudden?" He snapped, jumping to his feet so quickly it scared her for a second. She didn't back down though, and the two of them glared at each other as he stepped closer so they were inches apart. He'd never bothered to turn the bathroom light on, so the room was illuminated by only the weak glow of the bedroom lights. Even at this distance they could barely see each other. 

For a few seconds, Cheyenne didn't say anything, her mind racing as she considered her next move. She knew Dean would never hurt her. Maybe he'd yell, maybe he'd push her out of his way, but he'd never physically hurt her. Even so, she'd never seen like this before - every muscle was tensed, his jaw was locked in place and his eyes burned hot with anger. As tempting as it was to snap at him, sit him down and  _order_  him to tell her what was going on, she knew that wouldn't work.

Besides, she didn't want to force him to tell her anything. 

"Actually." She said softly, reaching up to brush her fingers across his cheek gently. "I do." 

Dean's jaw tightened under her touch, just a little but enough that she could feel it. For a moment, Cheyenne's hand just hovered there, her fingertips dancing across the four day old stubble. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

He inhaled sharply at her words, eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to keep his eyes open. She took a step towards him, closing what little space there still was between the two of them and cupping his cheek properly. Stretching up onto her toes, Cheyenne pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, one which he barely managed to return. 

"I don't..." Dean began, but he faltered, struggling to find the right words. She pulled his arms around her waist slowly before sliding her hands up his chest, giving him a second to think about what he wanted to say. 

"It's okay, take your time." She soothed, kissing his jaw gently. As frustrating as it was to deal with the perpetual emotional constipation that seemed to run in the Winchester men, she was willing to be patient with him. 

"I can't." Dean croaked finally, his grip on her tightening until it bordered on painful. "I can't talk about it."

Biting back frustration, Cheyenne resisted the urge to push him away and snap 'can't or _won't_?', despite the fact that it probably would have sped the process up a lot. She wasn't going to help him by yelling at him. 

Instead, she kissed along his jaw to the junction where it met his neck, still balanced on her toes. Dean's head was tilted up as he stared at the tiled ceiling, and he swallowed hard underneath her. For a moment, Cheyenne thought she felt his hands actually shake against her. When she pulled back a little he tilted his head down to press his forehead to hers, inhaling shakily.

"I don't want to talk about him." Dean whispered, his voice thick with tears. On instinct, she reached up with one hand to slide her fingers into his hair lovingly, stroking her hand through it soothingly.

"You don't have to tell me anything tonight." She promised, pulling back a little so they could look at each other in the darkness. Tears brimmed in his eyes for a moment, but he blinked them away rapidly. For a few moments they stood there in silence, neither daring to make the first move. 

And then his lips were against hers, so quickly and with so much force it took her by surprise. With one hand on her back and the other in her hair, Dean backed them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, before lifting her up by the backs of her thighs with ease. 

He dropped her rather unceremoniously on the table in the kitchenette without breaking the kiss, leaning over her as she laid back against the wood. After a few moments of tugging at each other's clothing, Dean pulled back a little to look her in the eye, waiting for further approval. 

Cheyenne nodded, offering him a small smile as she leaned up a little to kiss him gently. She knew it was no use trying to get him to talk about John right now, she probably wouldn't be able to for a long time. What she could do, however, was distract him.

She knew exactly how he felt. She understood that sick feeling in his stomach, that bottomless pit of grief that threatened to swallow him up if he wasn't careful. It was something she recognised all too well from dealing with Ana and Jake's deaths. 

When he kissed her again it was more gentle, a little more shaky, and for a moment he paused there, his lips just ghosting over hers. Then he raised his eyes to meet her gaze before he spoke. 

"I love you."


	25. Chapter 25

Sam sighed down at the phone in his hand, before casting a quick glance at Dean's sleeping figure in the next bed over. It had been nearly two months since they'd buried John, but Dean still barely talked about it. He blanked any mention of their father, and whenever Sam tentatively brought up the Demon, he could see the anger flash across his face before disappearing. 

He'd changed so much in just a matter of weeks, to the point where he was almost unrecognisable. Where he'd been a overbearing and borderline annoying with his constant singing or humming he'd become cold and stoic. He'd listen to the radio in silence - if he even bothered to put music on - and when he ate he just picked at his food wordlessly before eventually tossing his half eaten burger into the trash and dusting his hands off. If Sam was honest, it was starting to scare him. 

Sam pushed himself up off the bed and crept outside of the room, closing the door behind him with a gentle click before wandering out into the parking lot. He knew Dean refused to talk about with Bobby - he'd asked the older man enough times to know that he hadn't heard a word out of his older brother - but he wasn't sure if Cheyenne had managed to talk to him about it. 

Dean called her most nights. Sometimes the conversations were short, only a few minutes to check in and say hello before he'd hang up and toss his cellphone aside. Sometimes they lasted for hours, and Dean would sit outside their motel room while the sun went down, eventually creeping back into the room after Sam had decided to go to bed. 

When he dialled her number, she picked up on the second ring, her voice a little panicked. "Sam? Is everything alright? Are you two okay?"

He realised the last time he'd phoned her had been to tell her about the car accident, and assured her apologetically that they were both fine, and that Dean was asleep in the room. She seemed to relax a little at that. 

"How're you holding up?" She asked quietly. Sam sighed, leaning back against the freshly-repaired Impala. Dealing with John's death had been difficult to say the least. Trying to reconcile all of his anger, all of the arguments they'd had over the years with how much he'd loved the man deep down was hard. It was made even harder because of Dean's resistance to even acknowledge anything had happened. 

"Okay I guess, considering." He said quietly, kicking a loose stone underneath a nearby car. "I actually wanted to talk about Dean."

There was a pause before she spoke again. "What about him?"

"Has he spoken to you about Dad?" Sam asked, frowning down at the tarmac beneath his scuffed sneakers. Over the phone, he heard Cheyenne sigh gently, and he guessed her answer before she even spoke. 

"No. Not really. I tried to get him to talk about it that first night, after the funeral, but he didn't want to. It hasn't really come up since, to be honest."

"He hasn't said anything?" Sam asked, a little deflated. He'd hoped Dean would have at least opened up to one other person. 

"No." She admitted. "I'm assuming he still isn't speaking to you about it?"

"What do you think?" He said bitterly, giving another heavy sigh as he looked up into the cloudless sky. "I just don't know how to help him."

"You know how stubborn he is." Cheyenne said gently. "But he's your brother. Right now that's all he needs - he just wants to know you're there for him. That's it."

Sam didn't respond. He knew that she was right - he knew, deep down that it was impossible to get Dean to do or say anything he didn't want to, and trying was just a waste of energy. That didn't stop him from feeling like he was wasting time that could be better spent talking about their father, though. There was a part of him that honestly believed that if he and Dean could talk about what happened, it would make things better. He wanted his old brother back, not this cold, distant stranger who looked and sounded like him. 

"Do you know if Dad said anything to him right before it happened?" He asked after a moment's silence. "After you and I left the room I mean."

"No. Why?"

Sam gnawed on his lower lip. There had been a nagging feeling ever since they'd left the hospital the first night that something was wrong, a feeling he couldn't shake. Maybe it was because of how cold Dean was acting. Maybe it was because of how he refused to even talk about their father, a man he'd damn-near idolised his whole life. Maybe it was just because of how strange and sudden John's death seemed. "Never mind. It's probably nothing." 

"Things'll get easier." She promised him, her voice still quiet. "I know it doesn't seem like that right now but-"

"I know." Sam murmured, nodding along as he kicked another stone across the parking lot. "Time heals all wounds, right?"

"Right..." She didn't sound entirely convinced by his bravado. "Just... Call me if anything happens, okay? If you or Dean need to talk or... if anything happens to one of you, just call."

There was another pause while she searched for the right words. "I'm worried about you two."

Sam couldn't help but smile a little at that, even though it made him feel a little guilty. Despite how shitty the situation was, he had to admit that it felt good to know that there was someone out there who was worried about them. Someone who cared, someone who was staying up late fretting over whether or not they'd gotten back safely from a Hunt.

"I will." He assured her. "Goodnight, Cheyenne."

After hanging up on her, Sam tucked his phone back into his pocket and snuck back into the motel room. He closed the door behind him with a soft  _click_  and kicked off his shoes before creeping towards his bed. He'd made it over halfway before the bedside light flicked on. 

Dean was sat upright in bed, wide awake with eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked at his younger brother. "Who were you on the phone to?"

For a moment, Sam considered lying to him, before thinking better of it after only a few seconds. "Cheyenne."

"Oh really?" Dean cocked an eyebrow, his jaw tightening a little as he glared at his younger brother. "What did you two talk about? The weather?"

Sam groaned gently, sitting down on his bed. He really,  _really_  hated it when Dean got into one of these moods. He'd get pissy and snappy, and instead of talking like an adult he'd just throw a sarcastic comment in Sam's direction.

Lately, he'd been getting into those moods a lot. "Dean, come on man..."

"You don't think I have the right to know why you two are sneaking around together?" He spat, turning to face Sam properly. "Calling each other up at 1 in the morning _just to chat_?"

"We're worried about you, Dean!" Sam snapped, pursing his lips. "Given everything that's happened, I don't think that should come as too big of a shock to you."

"I'm  _fine_!" 

Sam considered yelling at him. He  _wanted_  to jump to his feet and scream at him, tell him just how much of an idiot he was being, tell him that bottling up his feelings would get him nowhere. But he knew that wouldn't solve anything - in all likelihood it would just make things worse. So instead, he just shrugged his jacket off and tossed it aside before laying down on the bed. Before he rolled over to put his back to his brother, he said one last thing. 

"Sure you are."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean didn't talk about John after, but he didn't really need to. It was obvious from the way he hunted, from the way he spoke, even in the way he carried himself that he was in a lot of pain. He was angry, he was hurt, and he had absolutely no way of handling it like a well-adjusted human being. The only small consolation for Sam was that he wasn't necessarily  _worse_ after the conversation they'd had. The morning after Dean had caught him talking to Cheyenne, Sam half expected to receive the silent treatment, or to hear a few scathing comments. Instead there was nothing. No indication that anything had happened the night before, or that Sam had finally brought up how poorly they were handling John's death. In fact, when Sam woke up the next morning it was to a styrofoam cup of fresh coffee from the local diner, which Dean had placed on the nightstand for him. 

There was a job already waiting for him, he discovered. Bobby had left Dean a voicemail during the night about a string of disappearances in Mississippi, and by the time Sam was out of bed the room was already packed up. Dean was sat in the kitchenette at the table, reading through John's journal and waiting for Sam to get up. 

They were on the road before lunchtime, driving in silence with only Dean's old Led Zeppelin cassette for company. Neither of them acknowledged the conversation they'd had the night before, but Sam could tell it was on Dean's mind. Every time he looked at his older brother he could see the near-permeant frown etched on his features, and every time Sam looked away he could feel a pair of green eyes on him. This was how the job was now, and he was starting to get used to it - as uncomfortable as that sounded. 

Sam tried to engage him in conversation a couple of times - he asked about the job, or he talked about Bobby but nothing seemed to hold Dean's interest for long, and sooner or later they'd drift back into an uneasy silence. He even tried talking about Cheyenne, asking about her job or her plans, but even that didn't seem to spark much of a reaction from his older brother, and after a couple of hours Sam just stopped trying. He figured that if Dean really wanted to talk, he would. 

They'd arrived in Mississippi and found a motel room before Dean managed to get out a sentence that lasted more than just a few words. After dumping his duffel on top of the garishly patterned bedsheets he mentioned something about getting food, and asked Sam if there was anything he wanted. His tone was light and gave nothing away, but his haste to get out of the motel room and the fact that he couldn't hold his younger brother's gaze for more than a few seconds betrayed him. He was still shifty, still on edge. 

When he left the motel, Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. Sitting in the car next to Sam all day had been oddly stifling. He was well aware of the fact that he wasn't hiding how poorly he was coping, but it was getting more and more difficult to look his brother in the eye without thinking about his father's last words to him. They replayed over and over in his head all the time. He heard them whenever Sam spoke to him about the cases they worked, he heard them when the radio played, and he even heard them when he tried to distract himself with phone calls to Cheyenne. Nothing could get those words out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. Not even hunting helped, even though it was a good outlet for his anger. 

Dean eased himself into the driver's seat of the Impala slowly, throwing the car into gear and peeling out of the parking lot. Now that he'd started thinking about it, he couldn't  _stop_  going back over the last time John had spoken to him. With a grunt, he reached over to turn on and tune the radio, flipping through stations as he drove. Even as he flicked through the stations Dean knew it wouldn't distract him for long, and after finally landing on white noise he sat back, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel restlessly. It was no use. Nothing could hold his attention for more than a few minutes without the sound of John's last words coming back to haunt him, like the distant ghost of a bad dream. 

He was so lost in thought that he drove past two burger joints and a nearly empty diner, and almost missed his phone ringing in the pocket of his jacket. Snapping back into focus, he dug it out and answered, expecting it to be Sam. "Yeah?"

"Dean..." It was Cheyenne. He felt his already tensed up shoulders relax a little at the sound of her voice, and the corner of his mouth twitched into what could have become a smile. 

"Hey." He said quietly, resisting the urge to ask her about her phone call with Sam the night before. He'd already pissed his brother off because of it, he didn't want to upset her too, especially seeing as it had been almost three days since they'd even spoken on the phone. Other than a few hurried texts they'd had barely any contact, despite Dean's promises to call her, so he figured it  _wasn't_  the best idea to immediately interrogate her about her conversations with Sam. "It's good to hear your voice."

She didn't respond for a few moments and he called her name gently, his brow furrowing. "Everything okay?"

"I don't know." 

Dean jerked the steering wheel to the right in an instant, pulling up to the side of the road so he could concentrate. Behind him, someone honked their horn and yelled something out of their window as they drove past, but he ignored them. "Chey?"

"I uh..." He heard her draw in a shaky breath. "I just got a call from my Nana's carer, back in Oregon..."

Dean felt something twist uncomfortably in his stomach. Cheyenne didn't speak about her Nana often, but he knew she made time to call her at least once a week. He'd even been there for some of the phone calls, and never failed to make him smile when he saw her face light up at the sound of the older woman's voice. If something happened to her, Cheyenne would be devastated. "Is your Nana okay?"

"She's fine." Cheyenne assured him softly. "It's not about her."

He recognised that tone, the way her voice dropped a little and she spoke from the back of her throat. This wasn't about her Nana, it was about her Dad. "What happened?"

"It's my Dad. He um..." She paused again, and he heard another shaky inhale. "He's dead, Dean."

There was silence for a few seconds. He didn't honestly know how to respond, and she didn't know what else to say. There wasn't really much else that either of them  _could_  say. Neither of them had ever really acknowledged what had happened back in Oregon after he'd come to collect her, and he got the impression it wasn't something she _ever_  wanted to talk about. It was obvious that it was always at the back of her mind though, even if she never said it out loud. He saw it in the way she double-checked the door was locked and latched every night, or in the way she tensed up when she heard yelling down the hallway, shooting the door furtive glances every so often until the voices disappeared.

He knew she had a baseball bat tucked under her bed, within arms reach even though she lived in a safe neighbourhood and didn't really have a need for one unless she was expecting a very specific threat. He'd found it a few months after they'd started seeing each other, early one morning when he was searching for one of his boots. At the time, he'd just dismissed it as an extra safety precaution, and he'd been a little impressed by it - he liked a woman who came prepared. After everything that had happened with her father though, and he double checked that the baseball bat was still tucked under her bed, 'impressed' wasn't the word he'd used to describe how he felt. Sickened, yes. Horrified, maybe. Impressed? Not so much. 

Eventually, Dean broke the silence. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know." She admitted. "Bonnie called me about an hour ago and I just... I've just been sitting here. I  don't know how I feel. I don't know what to  _do_  I just -"

Her words came out quickly, and she tripped over them a little as she struggled to get them out, and as she spoke Dean heard an edge of panic to her tone. He said her name quietly, as soothingly as he could manage, and she stopped talking immediately. "It's going to be okay."

For a few moments she just breathed through her nose, and when she spoke again her voice seemed a little calmer. "I know. I know it's just... Fuck, I _don't_  know." 

"Do they know what he died of?" It was probably an insensitive question, but curiosity got the better of Dean. He half expected it to be someone finally finishing the job he'd started all those months earlier. 

"Stroke. He was found in a back alley outside some dive bar apparently." 

Pity, Dean thought. He'd really been betting on gunshot. 

"Do you want me to drive up and see you?" He asked, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel lightly as he glanced out into the road next to him. If he left now he could get there before sunrise. 

"Are you working a case?"

Dean shrugged automatically, forgetting she couldn't actually  _see_  nonverbal reactions. "Could leave Sam here and send Bobby down to help him."

If he was honest, he was partly looking for an excuse to get away from Sam for a little while. He'd considered the fact that some space might make it easier to cope with what John had told him in the hospital. Almost as soon as he'd thought that though, Dean couldn't help but wince. It was selfish. He shouldn't be thinking about getting away from Sam when Cheyenne was the real issue. 

"I'll be alright." She assured him. "Bonnie told me they're going to start the funeral preparations tomorrow, they'll probably hold it at the end of the week, so if I drive down tomorrow morning I can get there a day or two before."

"You're heading down there?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow in surprise. "Really?"

"He was my  _father_ , Dean." She reminded him gently. 

"He was a -" Dean searched for the right word, but nothing quite seemed fitting. Instead, he just settled for the worst one he knew. "Cunt."

"Still. I should go to the funeral. For closure, if nothing else."

Dean clicked his tongue, feeling a frown etch itself onto his face. He didn't like the thought of her driving down alone. He didn't like the thought of her going back into that house, after everything that had happened. He didn't like the thought of her going to the funeral of a man who didn't deserve to be mourned. If Dean had been able to get his way the year before, her father would have been rolled up in a rug and dumped on the side of the highway. It was what he deserved, and if he was honest Dean was a little annoyed he hadn't taken the opportunity when he'd had it. 

"Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?"

"I'll be okay." She assured him. He thought for a second he could hear the smile in her voice. "I lasted for twenty years before my guardian angel swooped in, right?"

That didn't exactly comfort him. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know what her version of 'lasting for twenty years' involved. "We'll finish this job as soon as possible, okay? And then we can drive up to Oregon and meet you. Maybe we'll even be able to get there for the funeral."

She chuckled at that. "I don't think my Nana would appreciate you burning the casket."

"I wouldn't -"

"You know you wouldn't be able to sit through a funeral service for him, Dean." She interjected softly. "Not that I blame you." 

"You shouldn't have to sit through that." Dean knew what the service was going to be like. They'd find something nice to say about him. No matter what kind of a shitty person you were, no matter who you'd hurt or killed in your lifetime, when it came down to it there would always be a priest with some nice words while they lowered you into your grave. That meant she would have to sit there and listen to them spout some  _bullshit_  about whatever nice quality of her father's that they could come up with, while knowing the whole time what a piece of shit he _really_ was. "It's not fair."

"Yeah, well there's a lot about this that isn't fair."

He couldn't argue with her on that. He couldn't argue with her about cutting the case short and coming up to see her either, even though he tried. She assured him again that she would be fine, and reminded him that his job was too important to shove into the backseat, and eventually he gave up trying to argue his case. She was more stubborn than him, as hard as that was to believe.

"I should start packing." Cheyenne said eventually, and over the line Dean heard a heavy sigh. "I'll call you when I hit the road." 

"You'd better." He heard her laugh gently at that. "I love you, Cheyenne."

There was a pause, only for a few seconds, before she responded. "I love you too, Dean."

After hanging up, Dean tossed his phone aside and headed back to the motel, passing the two burger joints and diner once again in the process. When he arrived back empty handed Sam was more than a little annoyed, but Dean didn't even give him the chance to complain before telling him to get back to work. He didn't care if they needed to research for the next three days straight, this case  _was_  going to be finished, and he  _was_  going to be in Oregon before the end of the week.


	26. Chapter 26

Coming home for the funeral was difficult, even though Cheyenne had assured Dean a half dozen times that she was going to be absolutely fine. Her Nana's carer, a young woman called Bonnie who seemed to just exude maternal instinct from her every fibre, had called Cheyenne the week before to tell her about the stroke. He was dead, and she needed to come back to Oregon as soon as possible. For a few hours, Cheyenne had debated whether or not to call her back and tell her that she couldn't come, that she was too busy, but she knew there was no excuse she could give that would work. 

Instead, she'd packed a bag and got into her car. It took her nearly four days to drive it, but she refused to get a flight. It wasn't exactly like she was in a hurry to go home, especially not when she hadn't been back since the night Dean had come to get her. When she'd eventually turned up, Bonnie and her Nana were waiting at the house. A lot of the funeral arrangements had already been made, they assured her. Her job was basically just to show up and watch them put him in the ground. 

Now she was stretched out on top of the covers, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of her bedroom. Everyone else had gone to bed hours earlier, but she couldn't sleep. There were memories of him all over the house, despite the fact that Bonnie and her Nana had been living there for nearly a week since he'd died. His favourite brand of beer filled the fridge almost to the brim, the magazine subscriptions he'd paid for were stacked by the front door, and his bedroom was still littered with unwashed clothes and cans of booze. Cheyenne avoided even looking at the closed door when she passed it on the landing as she headed to bed. 

While she laid there, a familiar sense of anxiety that she couldn't shake crept over her. Her hand slid from the mattress to trail under the bed, searching for the handle of a baseball bat before she remembered it was under her bed at College. Here, she was defenceless, just as she always had been. She waited to hear something break downstairs, she waited for footsteps that never came. She waited for his voice in the hallway, to hear the creak of her door open.

None of it ever came, but that didn't calm her down at all, so she crawled out of bed, grabbed the packet of cigarettes she'd bought on the drive down, and went outside on the porch to call Dean. She wasn't much of a smoker; she only really did it when she was drunk or stressed, and right now she felt like she could smoke the whole damn pack right here on the steps. 

Dean answered on the second ring. In the background, she could hear the sound of the road. He was driving. "How's it going up there?"

"About as well as you'd expect." She took a languid drag of her cigarette, wincing at the burn in her lungs. The last time she'd smoked properly had been the night of Jake's funeral, close to six months ago now.

"Can't sleep?"

"No." She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the night sky. "I can't. It's stupid. I know he's gone, but I can't shake this feeling... It's like I'm on edge all the time, waiting for something that isn't happening."

"I'm driving there as fast as I can, sweetheart." He promised. "We should be there tomorrow afternoon."

Cheyenne leaned back, securing her cigarette between her teeth as she inhaled again, deeper this time. After a moment she pulled the cigarette away, tapping a little of the excess ash off onto the stairs. She knew that when Bonnie found the remains the next morning she'd get a very motherly huff of disapproval, but she didn't care. "It's okay. The funeral's in the morning, maybe it'll be easier after that."

There was a beat of silence as she blew smoke rings into the night sky. "I'm so sorry, baby."

"Not your fault." She said quietly. "I just want this all to be over. I called the realtor while I was driving down, told them I want them to put the house on the market. Someone's coming down in the afternoon, so with any luck I can sell up and never have to come back to this hell hole again."

"What about your Nana?" He asked. She smiled gently in spite of herself. The only personal photo she had in her room (besides the dozens of pictures of her, Ana and Jake) was a picture of her Nana that lived on her dresser, and Dean had asked her about it a few times. Her Nana was the only family member that Cheyenne had any meaningful relationship with, and although she didn't get to see her very often, she always made sure to call her once a week, twice if she could. Oddly enough, Dean seemed to like hearing about her. He'd always ask after her, and Cheyenne would make sure to fill him in on which of the elderly women in the nursing home her Nana suspected was cheating at Bingo.

"She's doing okay. To tell you the truth, she doesn't know what's going on half the time." Cheyenne sighed, tapping off some more ash. "Probably better that way to be honest."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay until we get there?" Dean sounded uncertain. 

"I can handle it." She promised, taking another drag and exhaling slowly. Although she'd never admit it to anyone, sometimes it felt like the nicotine worked better than her medication. "Just... talk to me a little. About anything, I don't care what."

He talked to her about everything. He talked about the job, about the motel they'd stayed at, about the bar fight they'd gotten into after Dean got caught hustling pool. He talked until his phone started beeping insistently. 

"I'm out of minutes." He murmured apologetically, smiling softly as he heard her yawn. 

"S'okay. I should probably try and get some sleep anyway. Tomorrow is going to be... Long."

"Yeah." Dean whispered, frowning. His heart broke at the thought that she was going to have to stand at that funeral alone. "Get some sleep, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks for staying up with me." She mumbled, stubbing out her fourth cigarette of the night on the steps. "I'll see you when you guys get into town."

"Cheyenne?"

"Yeah, Dean?" She said, barely managing to suppress a yawn. 

"I love you." He said softly. Hearing those words still sent a shiver down her spine, still made her smile despite everything else that had happened over the past few days. It was strange - no matter what had happened, no matter where she was, hearing those three words just seemed to make everything else seem so insignificant. 

"I love you too." She said quietly. "See you in a few hours, baby."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cheyenne's hands shook a little as she stared at herself in the mirror, removing her jewellery slowly before setting it aside in her box. She was still dressed for the funeral, in a black dress she was tempted to burn at some point, and heels that made the muscles in her calves burn. It seemed a little perverse to dress up for the funeral of a man she hated so much, but she was well aware of how much it would have upset her Nana if she'd refused. 

There was a soft knock on her door, which Bonnie pushed open just a crack. "You want to help make some lunch?"

Cheyenne was tempted to say no. More than anything she just wanted to curl up in her room and wait for Dean to show up, but it was difficult to resist those big brown eyes and the soft voice. Bonnie was every maternal figure Cheyenne had craved through her childhood rolled into one, and the older woman knew it. "Sure thing, I'll be right down."

After casting herself another glance in the mirror, Cheyenne stood up and went downstairs. Her first job was to bring the tray of tea out to her Nana, who was sat out by the table on the porch. When Cheyenne set the tray down, the older woman shot her a weak smile, squeezing her hand. "How are you feeling, Blossom?"

Cheyenne smiled at the old nickname. She had vague memories, back from when her Grandfather was still alive, of the Cherry Blossom in her Nana's backyard in spring time. Without fail, every time she was out there she'd come back in with a collection of the flowers for her grandparents, delivering them onto the kitchen table proudly. The nickname wasn't exactly subtle or clever, but it was apt, and it stuck. 

"I'm doing okay, Nana." It was a lie, but Cheyenne didn't exactly feel comfortable telling the whole truth.

"You turned out so pretty, Bloss." She whispered, smiling sadly as she reached up to touch the ends of Cheyenne's hair lovingly. "I wish Robert could see you now, he'd be so proud of you."

The mention of Cheyenne's Grandfather hurt, just a little. He'd died almost ten years earlier, but it still felt like a fairly fresh wound whenever his name came up in conversation, which was more often than she cared for. "I wish he was here too."

Down the otherwise silent street, they heard the now familiar rumble of an engine, and a few seconds later the Impala pulled into view across the street. Cheyenne's heart sped up as she saw Sam and Dean clamber out, frowning up at the house. She ignored Bonnie's half-hearted call not to run in her heels and flew down the stairs into the street, running across it blindly and into Dean's arms, nearly knocking him over as she hugged him.

"Woah..." He chuckled, his arms wrapping around her tightly as he pulled her in close, stumbling backwards a step to compensate for the force at which she'd flung herself at him. "It's okay Sweetheart. I've got you..."

"I missed you." She whispered into his shirt, squeezing him so tightly she thought she heard a groan. "I'm so glad you're here."

Dean cupped the back of her head, frowning over at Sam as he held her against his chest. "I missed you too, Chey."

She pulled back a little to look up at him, and when she did he caught the look in her eyes. She looked exhausted - not just physically, but emotionally drained too. He knew being back here would be difficult for her. 

"Hey, Cheyenne." Sam offered her a small smile as he walked around the car, and was surprised to find himself involved in another tight hug, which he returned. "How're you holding up?"

"M'okay." She mumbled, shrugging. "I just kind of want everything to be over, now."

"I hate to be  _that guy_." Dean chuckled, looking up towards the house and spotting Bonnie at the front steps, one hand on her hips as she looked down at them. "But I think we're being watched. Who's your friend?"

"Bonnie. My Nana's carer." Cheyenne smiled gently, lacing her fingers with his as she led the two brothers up the steps to the house. "Hey, Bonnie. This is Sam and Dean."

"It's nice to meet you both." Bonnie shook their hands, casting Dean a suspicious glance. "I've heard a lot about  _you_."

"Oh." Dean shot her a charming grin, which she didn't return. "All good I hope?"

"Not exactly." Cheyenne admitted, feeling her cheeks grow hot. As Bonnie had filled the surrogate mother role while looking after her Nana, she'd been the one Cheyenne had told about her relationship with Dean. And her subsequent break up with Dean. "She um... Knows about everything that happened with us."

Dean's grin faltered a little. "Oh. Let me guess, I didn't come off great in that story?"

"Not particularly." Bonnie informed him with a wry smile. "But it seems like things worked out okay with the two of you."

"Yes, ma'am." Dean stood up a little straighter beside Cheyenne, his grip on her hand tightening noticeably. "It did."

Bonnie nodded slowly, her eyes still narrowed suspiciously as she looked between the two of them, but for the moment, she seemed placated. Behind her, Cheyenne's Nana peered up at Sam and Dean through thick glasses. "Are those the gardeners?"

"No, Nancy." Bonnie turned back to the table to start pouring her tea, speaking softly. "Those are Cheyenne's friends. Do you remember her telling you about Dean?"

"Oh don't be silly, Bonnie." The older woman waved her away, leaning in a little more to get a better look at Sam and Dean. "Those two men are far too old to be her friends. Now, if you gentlemen are the gardeners you're going to have to wait for my husband to get home. He handles all the finances, so he'll pay you."

Sam glanced down at Cheyenne, who'd grown visibly stiff beside him. Her jaw locked, and Sam watched her swallow hard a few times, before managing to speak. "Nana, Sam and Dean aren't here for the garden. They came to be with me after the funeral, they're going to stay for a few nights."

For a few seconds, Nancy looked at her in confusion, which then turned to shock, and then finally a wave of recognition crossed her face. "Oh, Blossom... Are these your friends from College?"

Bonnie opened her mouth to correct the older woman, but Cheyenne held up a hand to stop her, giving her a minuscule shake of the head to silence her. "Yeah. They're my friends from school."

"Oh well that's lovely!" She beamed up at the three of them while Bonnie fussed around her, straightening the pillows against her chair and making sure her tea wasn't too hot. "It's so wonderful to meet you both. Now what did you say your names were, boys?"

"I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam." Dean smiled down at her. "It's a pleasure, Nancy."

Cheyenne made an excuse about showing the brothers inside so they could put their bags down before leading them to the front door. As they walked in, Cheyenne heard her Nana whisper loudly to Bonnie. "Oh, I  _like_  him."

Dean offered to take the bags upstairs for Sam, while he and Cheyenne made coffee. For a few seconds the two stood in silence, neither one quite sure of what to say. The last time they'd seen each other had been at John's funeral pyre. 

"I'm sorry about my Nana." She said eventually, avoiding his gaze by concentrating on the coffee machine. "She gets... Confused sometimes."

"Dementia?" Sam asked softly. She nodded, a line appearing between her brows. 

"Yeah. Started out with just... Forgetting where she'd left her keys and stuff. You know, usual old lady stuff. But then she started to get really confused. My Grandpa died nearly ten years ago, but she'd start to ask me if I knew what time he was coming home, why he was late." She sighed heavily, spooning sugar into her mug. "It sucks, having to remind someone that the person they love is dead. Seeing that look in their eyes, over and over again."

"That must be difficult." Sam whispered, offering her a sympathetic smile as he joined her at the counter to make his own coffee. 

"It sucks, but that's not the worst part. Sometimes she'll forget who I am, because in  _her head_  I'm a seven year old kid still." She shrugged, grabbing the milk from the fridge. "Kind of like what happened out there a minute ago. Some days she's better than others, sometimes she's really present. Other days... Not so much." 

"Does she understand what's happening? With the funeral?" Sam asked, turning his head to look over at her. 

"I think so." 

There were a few seconds of silence while they looked at each other, neither quite knowing what to say in response. It was a shitty situation, they both knew that. Acknowledging it probably wouldn't help to make them feel much better. 

"I'm sorry about your dad." He said eventually. 

"Don't be." Cheyenne shot him a sad smile as she picked up two of the coffee mugs. "I'm not."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cheyenne was back in her bedroom, staring at herself in the mirror. After Sam and Dean had shown up at the house she'd never bothered to get changed out of her funeral clothes. So now, after saying goodnight to her Nana and Bonnie, and showing Sam to the guest room she was still stood in her room in the same uncomfortable heels and dress that she hated. Behind her, Dean was sprawled out on her bed, watching her lazily from where he was propped up against the pillows. He'd pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it on the bed almost as soon as they'd closed the bedroom door behind them, but couldn't be bothered to get undressed properly, so instead he was just lounging on her bed in those same frayed jeans he always wore. 

"I like the dress." He called from his spot on the bed. She pulled a face that he could see in the mirror, shaking her head in response. "You don't?"

She didn't answer him. Instead, she asked for him to unzip her as she pulled her hair over one shoulder, still frowning at her reflection in the mirror After crawling off the bed and joining her by the mirror, Dean reached up to help her with the dress slowly, pulling the zipper down all the way until it stopped at her tailbone. The dress slid off her shoulders easily, pooling on the floor at their feet as they stared at each other in the mirror in silence. Dean's arms snaked around her waist, pulling her in against his chest.

"Do me a favour and burn that thing at some point." She said quietly, leaning back against him gratefully. He felt warm around her, and the pressure on her waist was comforting. Even though she'd assured him she would be fine in the house without him, Cheyenne was glad he was there. For a guy that killed things professionally, he had an oddly calming presence. 

Dean nuzzled against her neck in response, meeting her gaze in the mirror and seeing her frown. "What are you thinking about?"

"I want this to be over." She whispered, still staring at him in the mirror as he ducked his head to place a gentle kiss on her shoulder. "I never want to have to think about this place again."

Dean's stubble grazed her skin as his lips trailed up, from her shoulder to her neck so that he could whisper in her ear. "It'll be over soon. You can sell the house and get the hell out of here. Never come back."

"And then after this is over..." She arched her neck at his touch. "And you've finished Hunting..."

He smiled gently against her skin, the kisses stilling. "You want to talk about what we're gonna do after I'm out of the game, hm?"

"I don't want to talk about  _anything_ , actually." Cheyenne murmured, reaching back to slide her fingers into his hair. She could feel his lips tug into a smirk against her skin as his grip on her hips tightened. Slowly, he lifted his head a little so that he could whisper in her ear again, his voice close to a strained groan. 

"It's been a long couple of months without you." 

Their eyes met in the mirror, and she caught his grin as his hands slid around to undo her bra, before sliding it off her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor beside her dress. For a moment, he just stared at her in the mirror, before speaking again. "You want me to show you how much I've missed you?"

Cheyenne couldn't help but mimic his grin, nodding slowly. "Absolutely."


	27. Chapter 27

Cheyenne woke up before him the next morning, so early that the sun had hardly begun to even rise outside. For a few seconds she just laid there in bed, smiling at the heavy weight of his arm draped over her waist, and the tickle of his breath at the back of her neck. No matter how many times it happened, she was never going to get sick of waking up next to him like this. Eventually though, she knew she had to get out of bed and take her medication, preferably before he woke up.

After glancing over her shoulder to check that Dean was still soundly asleep, she slid out from his arms and got out of bed, creeping over to her desk. The half empty blister pack of Prozac was stuffed into the bottom of her makeup bag where she'd left it the day before. After digging it out, Cheyenne popped two of the pills out and tossed them into her mouth, washing them down with a sip of the now-flat soda she'd left on her desk the day before. 

"What's that?" The sound of Dean's voice behind her made Cheyenne jump, and she span around in her desk chair to face him in shock. She was  _sure_  he'd been asleep when she'd crawled out of bed. 

He was barely conscious; his eyes were only half open, unfocused as he blinked sleep back. His hair stuck up at odd angles from where he'd been sleeping, and he raked one hand through it to try and smooth it down. For a moment, Cheyenne considered telling him the truth, but her natural instinct took over before she could. 

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me." He said quietly, his voice gentle as he looked up at her properly, his green eyes fully open now. "If you don't want to tell me, just say so. But don't lie to me."

He had a point. Dean lied professionally, so it was fairly stupid to think she could get anything past him. On top of that, he'd  _just_  seen her take two pills, and she hadn't even bothered to put the packet back into her makeup bag. 

 _Maybe you really are a shitty liar_. She thought, sighing as she tossed the blister pack on the bed. It seemed easier to just show him the medication rather than verbally explain it. 

"Prozac?" He read, cocking an eyebrow. "That's... Anxiety medication, right?"

Cheyenne nodded silently, waiting with bated breath for his reaction. Within a split second, at least ten different possible reactions of his had played out in her head, and none of them were good. He could laugh at her, call her an idiot, call her weak. Maybe he'd just toss the pills back at her and roll over. Maybe he'd walk out. Maybe -

"How long have you been taking these?" He asked, turning the packet over in his hands a few times as if the label was going to give him some indication. His tone was difficult to read, as was his facial expression, so Cheyenne decided to stay put in her desk chair instead of risk moving onto the bed with him. 

"Just over a year." She said quietly, picking at a hangnail on her index finger nervously. It was easier to focus on that than look at him. "I started taking them after we broke up."

Dean's head flicked up at that, and for a moment she saw a flash of panic cross his face. " _Because_  of me?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. It's probably something I should have been taking for a long time, to be honest."

He knew what that meant. It was to do with her Dad. 

For a few seconds, Dean looked back down at the pack in his hands, before sitting up properly and meeting her gaze again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

It wasn't the tone of voice she'd expected. She'd almost expected him to sound accusatory, maybe even hurt that she'd kept it from him for so long. Instead, he just sounded confused. He was just trying to understand. 

She struggled to come up with an answer that made sense, and for a few seconds she just sat there, her mouth hanging open a little as she faltered. "I... didn't know how you'd react."

A crease appeared between his eyebrows at that, and his big green eyes flickered across her face for a few seconds as he considered what she meant. "You thought I'd be mad at you about this?"

Cheyenne threw her hands up in an 'I don't know' gesture, sighing heavily as she leaned forwards, resting her elbows on her knees. "When you put it like that it sounds stupid."

"It's not stupid." He said gently, patting the empty spot of the bed next to him and beckoning her closer with one crooked finger. After a second's thought she joined him, settling in next to him as he wrapped one arm around her shoulder. "You want to talk about it?"

"Do you want to talk about your Dad?" She countered, almost reflexively. Dean sucked air in through his teeth at that, clicking his tongue a couple of times as he chuckled. 

"Fair enough." He kissed her forehead gently. "We don't have to talk about it."

She _wanted_ to talk to him about it. She wanted to tell him everything - especially how much he helped her without even realising it, but she didn't even know how to begin. Did she tell him about the nightmares, the specifics of her anxiety? Did she tell him about  _why_  she felt like this, about everything that had happened with her father? All of those grisly details she'd gotten so very, very good at repressing?

Eventually, she settled on something simple enough. "I just feel like I'm on edge all the time. Like... When you're watching a really good horror movie and you know there's a scary bit coming, so you're waiting for it."

"Like when the Chestburster pops out of John Hurt in _Alien_?"

She smiled gently at the analogy. "Kind of like that, yeah. But for me, the Chestburster never pops out. But I still feel like it's coming, so I'm still on edge waiting for it. Constantly. And that feeling just... Never goes away. Not really."

"This all because of your dad?" He asked quietly, suddenly more sober and serious than she'd ever known him before. 

"I think so, yeah." She nodded. "I mean, even being back here has been... Hard. I guess it's kind of reflexive now, what with everything that happened here."

"Has it been worse since you've been home?"

There was a beat of silence, and then she answered. "Yes."

He inhaled steadily through his nose as she finally met his gaze, and if he was angry or upset with her then he was hiding it well. His green eyes met hers before flickering across her face lightly, scanning for a readable expression. "You know what this sounds like, right?"

Yeah, she knew  _exactly_  what it sounded like. She'd done enough research on the development of kids who grew up in abusive households to know what this was. It wasn't  _just_  anxiety, although that was obviously part of the problem. "Post Traumatic Stress. Yeah, I know."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, although he wasn't quite sure what. It felt a little hypocritical to tell her she needed to concentrate on getting herself better while he still wallowed over John, and he knew the advice wouldn't be received well. Instead, he kissed her gently, his lips pushing hers apart just a little as his arms tightened around her. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Telling me." He pulled back a little to look her in the eyes. She was one of the most guarded people he'd ever met - and that was coming from someone who spent his entire life literally running from emotional responsibilities. Slowly, he reached up with one hand to cup her cheek, caressing her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. 

"I want to tell you about it." She assured him softly. "But I just don't want to... Talk about it. That doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"It makes a little sense." Dean smiled, pressing his lips to hers in another gentle kiss before sliding down a little so he was laying on his back, inviting her to rest her head on his chest with a non-verbal tilt of the head. She laid down too, wrapping one arm around his middle to anchor herself against him while his hand came to rest in her hair. 

"You help, you know."

"I do?" He cocked an eyebrow in surprise. If he was honest, he'd almost been expecting to have the  _opposite_  effect on her. He hunted monsters for a living. He'd abandoned her for a year with no explanation. He'd put her life in danger for the sake of a job. If anything, Dean was probably one of the more stressful parts of her life. 

"It's easier when you're here." She admitted quietly, her head turned towards his stomach so he couldn't see her face. "I sleep better."

She was talking about the nightmares. Dean knew that she had them; he'd known for a while, ever since he'd woken up to her whimpering into her pillow, her face scrunched up in pain. She'd never talked about them, and he'd never asked. For some reason, that had always seemed like a step too far. "How about when I'm not here?"

Cheyenne frowned, fiddling with a loose thread on his boxers. There was a small part of her that felt childish admitting that she was nearly 23 years old and still had dreams that sent her screaming and crying. "I get nightmares."

"Want to talk about them?" He was giving her very open invitations, he probably knew that asking too forcefully would just shut her down. 

The dreams about her father were bad, and just like the nightmares where Dean abandoned her, they always started the same way. 

She was in her bedroom, staring out of the window at the old maple tree by the street, and it was night time. Cheyenne couldn't see herself, but judging by baby pink curtains and the posters that covered her wall, she was about 14 or 15. She didn't have long to appreciate the 90's decor before it started though. 

She'd get cold. The  _room_  wouldn't get cold, but she would. She'd feel it in her stomach, along with that familiar heavy sensation of dread. Then, as the alarm clock on her bedside table ticked rhythmically, she'd hear the footsteps. They were slow and uneven as he came up the stairs, his feet dragging against the wood until he was on the landing. Then the footsteps would start again, down the hallway towards her bedroom. Sometimes she'd get up and try to lock the door to stop him from coming in. Sometimes she'd try and force the window open and jump out onto the porch below. Sometimes she' try and hide in her closet, tucking herself in between her winter coats. None of it made a difference. The door would swing open whether she locked it or not. The window wouldn't open, no matter how she tried. Even in the closet he'd find her. 

Cheyenne's voice faltered as she told him about the dream, stopping herself before she got to the part that made her sweat and shake and feel sick to her stomach. The pain she felt in the dream was vivid, so realistic that it made her want to throw up just thinking about it. The fear that built up inside her was so  _real_  that it made her muscles tense up until she was almost completely rigid against him. It felt so genuine because it really happened, she explained. It happened the night before her fifteenth birthday. 

"It's more like a memory than anything." She said after a few moments of silence, while Dean stroked his hand across her back as soothingly as he could manage. "Only difference is, in the dreams I always try and run. I always think I can get away."

Dean didn't know how to respond to that, so instead he focused on trying to fight back the urge to go to the graveyard, dig her father's body up and kill him all over again. "You're safe now. You know that, right?"

She knew. It didn't help as much as it should have though. Instead, she just gave him a non-committal grunt, which he seemed to understand. 

"I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

Finally, she raised her head to look at him, only to find him staring down at her intently, his green eyes impossibly huge in the early morning light. Slowly, Cheyenne crawled back up the bed so they were face to face, where she could nudge her nose against his gently. Ordinarily his eyes would have slipped closed at that, and his lips would have parted a little at the the kiss he expected to follow, but he kept his eyes open, focused on hers. 

"Don't leave me again, Dean."

"I'm not going anywhere." He whispered, one hand coming up to caress her cheek. She leaned into his hot touch, grateful for the familiar feeling of his calloused fingertips against her skin. It still wasn't enough, though. It didn't calm those nerves that had been at the back of her mind since she'd started having nightmares about him abandoning her again. 

"Promise me." She breathed, the tip of her nose grazing against his as their foreheads bumped together gently. She felt his brow burrow a little at that, and his other hand found her waist to pull her a little closer. 

"I promise, Chey." 

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you again." Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she felt familiar tears clog up her throat. The thought of losing Dean again, after having him back in her life was too much to bear. The thought that one day he'd just turn around and walk out of the door physically hurt her. 

"Hey..." His voice was gentle as his other hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head up a little so they were eye to eye again. He was frowning at her, those impossibly green eyes wide with concern. "It's okay, I'm right here. I've got you..."

Dean pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her so she was practically curled up in his lap as he kissed her forehead, murmuring sweet nothings into her hair as she cuddled up to him. It was the first time they'd had any real intimacy since John had died. Even after they'd had sex in the motel room Dean rolled away from her in his sleep until he was at one side of the double bed, leaving her cold and alone on the other side. 

"We'll get through this." He said quietly, lips pressed to her temple. She suspected he wasn't just talking about  _her_  father's death, now. "Sam and I can take some time off the road and help you out."

"I'd like that." She admitted, her chest heaving with a heavy sigh. As good of an idea as that sounded, she doubted the brothers would actually be able to sit still for a few weeks in the tiny, insignificant town she'd grown up in. There was too much going on - the job was too important  _anyway_ , without their new task of hunting down the Demon that had escaped them before. It was nice to pretend, at least. It felt good to just lay here with Dean, and pretend that none of the rest of the world existed, if only for a few minutes. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

She'd underestimated them. Over breakfast, Dean had proposed the idea of staying in Oregon for a couple of weeks and Sam had jumped on it, much to Cheyenne's surprise. 

"Are you sure?" She cocked an eyebrow, looking between the two brothers when they came to her with the good news. "You actually want to stay?"

"It  _would_  be good to take a break." Sam admitted, shooting her a small smile as Dean looked at her hopefully. They were waiting for her approval, she realised. After checking with Bonnie that their presence wouldn't be more of a hindrance than a help, Cheyenne told them they could stay. Dean's face damn-near broke out into a grin at that, and even Sam looked a little relieved. 

Bonnie proposed them a deal. She'd do her regular work of cooking for Cheyenne and her Nana  _and_  cook for the brothers on top of that, but they had to help get the house cleaned and organised to be sold. To be fair to them, they took their chores without hesitation, both looking to Cheyenne as they waited for specific tasks. If she hadn't known any better she would have said they were actually _eager_  to get to work. 

She put them to work outside first, so they could help break down the broken lawn chairs and rotting garden table at the far end of the yard. While Dean set to chopping up the old furniture with an axe, Cheyenne and Sam got started in clearing out the shed of nearly three decades worth of hoarded crap. Although it wasn't really Fall yet, Bonnie insisted that there was a 'chill in the air', so Cheyenne and Sam were supplied with hot coffee and Dean was given sweet iced tea every half hour. 

"I think this will be good for him." Sam said quietly as he tossed a collection of half broken china dolls into the trash bag they'd brought into the shed with them. "Staying with you."

Cheyenne didn't quite know how to respond to that. Although she wanted it to be true, she knew exactly how stubborn Dean was. Unless he actively wanted work through everything that had happened with John, there was going to be no helping him. Before she could explain that, Dean appeared in the doorway of the shed, finishing the last of his latest glass of iced tea. 

"I like Bonnie." 

"Of course you do." Sam chuckled, rocking back on his heels where he was crouched next to Cheyenne. "She's pumping you full of iced tea  _and_  promised to bake you a pie."

"She promised that?" Cheyenne looked between them, catching Dean's smug grin. 

"Yeah, she did." He winked at them. "She likes me."

"You only get it if you behave." Sam rolled his eyes as he turned back to his job. "Those were her exact words. _Behave_."

Dean mimicked him as he placed the empty glass on a nearby shelf, before dropping into a crouch next to Cheyenne. "How's it going in here?"

There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow from where he'd been working in the garden, and a few strands of his hair that had fallen forwards were sticking to it haphazardly. The grey t-shirt he'd thrown on earlier was darkened with perspiration around the neck and under his arms, and his chest was rising and falling a little faster than normal as he fall backwards into a sitting position beside her. "We're making our way through it. How's the garden?"

"Nearly done. I'm very handy with an axe."

"You ought to be." She pointed out, tugging on the plaid shirt he'd tied around his waist an hour earlier. "You dress like a lumberjack all the damn time, you might as well act like one too."

For a few moments Dean just smiled at her in silence, smiling more with his eyes than his lips, until Sam cleared his throat loudly to remind them he was still trapped in the tiny shed with them. When they looked back over at him he'd risen to his feet, a pointed (and pained) smile on his lips. "I'm going to go get another coffee. You want one, Cheyenne?"

"Please." She smiled gently at the taller man as he stepped over her to get out of the shed, watching as he disappeared up the yard towards the house. Beside her, Dean rested his head on her shoulder gently. "You okay there?"

"Mmh..." He grunted in response, pausing a moment to think before speaking. "This is nice."

"Yeah, working in my garden for no pay sure must be a relaxing holiday for you." 

"Not what I meant." Dean said softly. She knew that; in fact, she knew exactly what he meant. It had been good to wake up next to him that morning, even better to be able to walk downstairs and eat a proper breakfast with him, without having to worry about him running off into danger at any moment. It was the kind of morning she could get used to. 

"I know." Cheyenne put two fingers under his chin to tilt it up a little, meeting his gaze properly. Dean's eyes flickered across her face for a few seconds, and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a semi-smile. "I'm glad you're here."

One arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her against the warmth of his body in the otherwise chilly shed. His lips pressed to her temple in a gentle, chaste kiss, and she felt him smile against her skin. While they waited for Sam to return with the coffee they just sat there, staring out into the garden and watching as the first few leaves of the season began to fall. 

"So am I, Chey."


	28. Chapter 28

Cheyenne was back in her college bedroom, staring at the mirror above her dresser silently. Her reflection stared back, and in the dim lighting Cheyenne could make out the split lip and bruised cheek. As the reflection wavered and disappeared, she felt a familiar sense of cold dread swirling in her gut before sweeping over her until she shivered. "Dean?"

He wasn't stood in the corner of her room like normal, and when she turned he wasn't behind her either, so Cheyenne ducked under her bed and felt for the baseball bat she knew was there. Her fingertips scraped along the carpet a few times, but there was nothing to grab. 

"Looking for this?"

Dean's voice came out as a low rumble behind her, and Cheyenne turned on the spot, jumping to her feet so she could face him. He was holding the bat in his right hand, swinging it like a windmill slowly before letting the barrel fall into his left palm with a smack that made her flinch. A line appeared between Dean's brows as he studied her face, green eyes flickering between the angry bruise and the cut on her lip. 

"Look what you made me do to you." He said, his voice soft as he motioned towards her face with the bat. Cool wood pressed against her cheek, just below the bruise, and Cheyenne whimpered involuntarily, squeezing her eyes shut. "How could you make me do that to you, Cheyenne? I don't want to hurt you, you know that, don't you?"

The bat pressed against her cheek a little harder, making contact with the bruise. He expected an answer. "I know."

"But it's the only way you'll learn." With that, the bat left her cheek. When she opened her eyes, Dean was holding it above his head, like he was playing the opening inning of a game. After a moment of silence he swung. Hard. 

Cheyenne woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought she was going to throw up, and when she reached up to push hair from her sweaty forehead, her hands shook uncontrollably. For a moment she just sat there, trying to catch her breath and willing her hands to stop shaking as Dean's voice played over in her head. He'd sounded so cold, so cruel that it hurt to even think about it. 

When she looked over at the bed, expecting to see his still sleeping figure beside her, it was empty. There was a Dean-shaped hollow on the pillow, but when she touched two fingers to it, it was cold. He'd been gone for a while. Confused, Cheyenne threw the covers off and crawled out of bed to look for him. She was about to call his name when she realised she could hear the lawnmower outside in the front yard. 

Sam was outside with the mower, slowly making his way up and down the grass while Dean swept the first of the autumn leaves off the porch. Not into a bag, of course. Just onto the grass. For a few seconds she just watched them work, watched as they occasionally shouted over the motor on the mower before the low rumble in her stomach forced her to throw on a pair of leggings and a hoodie and make her way to the kitchen. 

The kitchen was empty as she set about making coffees for them, and even when she called Bonnie's name hesitantly, she got no response. After grabbing a few cookies from the tin for a nutritious breakfast,  Cheyenne put the mugs on a tray and brought them outside for the boys, who were still at work. 

Dean spotted her as she walked out onto the porch, and Cheyenne felt the breath catch in her throat. For a second, a part of her expected him to have that same cold, dead look in his eyes. She almost expected to see his mouth settle into a thin line, but instead, it broke into a wide grin that reached all the way to his eyes. He rested the rake against the bannister of the porch and walked over to her, taking the tray out of her hands to put it on the table before she could protest. "Morning."

"You're up early." She commented lightly, throwing up one hand in a wave to Sam, who returning it before carrying on with his job. 

"Still not used to getting a full eight hours." He pointed out with a smile, one arm wrapping easily around her waist and pulling her closer. She was grateful for the warmth of his body - the thermostat had read 53ºF when she'd passed it in the hall, and it sure felt like it. "I didn't want to wake you."

Ordinarily, Cheyenne would have been touched by how sweet that was, but she couldn't quite shake the dream. It must have been written across her face because Dean frowned down at her. "What's wrong?"

Cheyenne just shrugged lightly in response before remembering she was trying to be more transparent with him. With a sigh, she opened her mouth to tell him. "Bad dream."

"Your dad?"

"Sort of." Although the dream was new, Dean's words weren't. She'd heard them all before, for years in fact. It had been drilled into her, but she'd never had to hear it from him before. This was a new, unique form of torture. 

He could tell she didn't want to talk about it, so he didn't press any further. Instead, he just kissed her forehead and reached for his coffee. And one of her cookies. "Hey!"

"Wha?" He mumbled, already stuffing it into his mouth. Cheyenne pouted up at him, folding her arms. 

"You're eating my breakfast."

Dean snorted, and a few crumbs flew out of his mouth as he chewed and swallowed a painfully large mouthful. "Healthy choice."

"I've watched you eat two Big Macs in one sitting." Cheyenne pointed out, smiling gently as he pressed another kiss to her temple. "And I _just_ watched you eat a cookie for breakfast, so you're hardly in a position to judge."

"I burn it off." He shrugged, pulling her against his chest as they stood together on the porch, watching Sam mow the lawn. He sipped his coffee again, slowly this time. "This is nice."

"You keep saying that." She teased, even though she didn't really want him to stop. Even after just two days at her house, Dean seemed different. The tension in his shoulders had relaxed, and the near-permanent frown that appeared after John's funeral had all but disappeared, and in its place there was a warm smile. He'd even shaved. 

"I could get used to this." He admitted, his hand rubbing her lower back absent-mindedly as he watched his brother. 

"You gonna pay Sam to mow _our_ lawn?" She asked with a gentle smile. He chuckled, and Cheyenne felt it reverberate through his chest. 

"You think he'd do it for five bucks?"

"Probably not. Might do it for ten though."

When Dean kissed her forehead again, Cheyenne could feel his lips pull back into a smile, and she couldn't help but press herself up against him a little more, scooting a little closer to his warmth. If she was honest, she could imagine doing this every morning. Waking up with him, drinking coffee together as they watched the sun rise. Maybe instead of watching Sam mow the lawn they'd be watching their own kids...

Cheyenne stopped herself there, shaking herself mentally. She'd never thought about kids before. It wasn't that she'd never thought about kids with  _Dean_ , she'd just never seriously considered having them before. After the childhood she'd had, Cheyenne seriously doubted that she'd want to risk turning out like either of her parents.  If Cheyenne became a parent, would she just pack her bags and walk out into the night, like her mother had done when she was eight? Would Cheyenne abandon a defenceless child to the wrath of an angry father too? Or - an even worse alternative - would she stay? Would she grow resentful, get angry? Get violent? 

She'd always pushed the idea of children out of her head, even when she'd started to date seriously in College. Marcus, her ex-boyfriend, had been the second of five sons, and he'd slipped his dream of having a large family into the conversation on more than one occasion. She'd never told him how uncomfortable it made her (or why it made her so uncomfortable), but Cheyenne always changed the topic with an awkward laugh, praying he'd forget about it and move on. She hadn't wanted kids, not with him. But now? Stood here with Dean on the porch, cuddled up against the cold while they drank coffee? Feeling truly safe for the first time in years? Suddenly, children didn't seem like such a scary prospect, even with what she knew about the world now. 

"Earth to Cheyenne..." Dean sang gently, right in her ear. "You still with me?"

"Hm?" She looked up at him and caught him smiling. "Sorry, zoned out."

"You're  _cold_." He said gently, still smiling. "You're practically shivering. Go inside, we'll be in soon."

Cheyenne didn't need telling twice. She grabbed her coffee and the remaining cookies and walked back inside, curling up on the couch while she waited for the brothers to finish up. To break up the silence, she switched on the TV, but she couldn't concentrate on the screen for more than a few minutes before her mind began to wander. 

She'd thought about what their lives would be like after he quit hunting a lot. She'd thought about staying in Madison in her shitty little apartment, or maybe going on the road for a while, drifting until they found somewhere to settle. She'd thought about living in a big city, spending whole nights exploring together before coming home and passing out next to each other. She'd thought about settling somewhere quiet, somewhere rural where they could just relax and be left alone. She'd thought about virtually every scenario, every option. Just never with kids. 

She didn't have much time to really consider it though, before they were back inside, joking about something that she didn't pay attention to. Dean leaned on the back of the couch to drop a kiss on the top of her head while Sam went upstairs to have a shower. "You got plans for the rest of today?"

"Mmh..." She mumbled, leaning over a little so she could turn her head and look up at him. "I do, actually."

Dean cocked his head to one side, inviting her to continue. 

"I uh... I wanted to clear my Dad's room out."

A line appeared between Dean's brows for one fleeting moment, and then it was gone. "Are you sure? I can do that for-"

"I  want to." She interrupted. She'd thought about it since the funeral, but as much as she wanted to get rid of his things, the thought of going in there alone made her feel sick. "But can you... help me?"

Dean leaned down a little more so he could kiss her properly, his lips lingering against hers for a few seconds longer than necessary. "Of course I will."

"You'll probably need to stop me from burning everything in there." She said, only half-joking. He smiled gently at that, walking around the couch and offering her a hand. 

"Why bother? We'll make a bonfire in the back yard."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Most of the books and clothes had been tossed into bags when Dean found the photograph. It was stuffed in the back of one of the drawers when he'd been digging through it to find anything worth keeping, and when he examined it closely, he was taken aback. 

A woman, a man and a little girl, all cuddled up together on a picnic blanket in summer. The man was Cheyenne's father. He was thinner, and he obviously took more pride in his appearance, but it was him. The woman beside him was probably Cheyenne's mother, and the little girl between them was obviously Cheyenne. 

She had her mother's eyes, he realised. They were the same shape and colour, and crinkled up at the corners in just the same way when they smiled. Dean had never seen her father smile before, but the man in the picture was laughing in a way not unlike the way she laughed at his stupid jokes or his bad singing in the car. 

"You want to keep this?" He asked quietly, showing her the picture. Cheyenne looked up from where she was stuffing clothes into a trash bag, and took the picture from him silently. If he was honest, she looked almost surprised by it. After a few seconds of looking at it, she tore the picture in two, and then in half again before tossing it into the trash bag and returning to her job. 

"Nope."

"You've never mentioned her." Dean said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he watched her work. He was talking about the woman in the picture - her mother. Cheyenne had never talked about her, and he'd never asked. 

"Not much to talk about." She said quietly, not meeting his gaze. "Never really knew her."

"You looked happy in the picture." He said tentatively. For a moment, she stopped, staring down at the t-shirt in her hands. "Was this before it all... Started?"

Cheyenne frowned down at the t-shirt for a second before reaching back into the bag and pulling out the sections of the photograph that included the little girl. After a moment, she joined him on the bed, sinking down next to him and passing him one of the segments. 

"Can't see it in the picture." She said quietly, pointing to the girl's torso. "But I'm bruised all the way up my ribs. My legs, too."

Dean wished he'd kept his mouth shut. In hindsight, it had been a stupid thing to say. "Oh."

"Most of the time that's how it was. Nothing that left too bad of a scar, nothing too visible. Unless he got careless or  _really_  drunk." Her voice was oddly calm as she looked down at the picture. "She left a few months after this picture was taken."

"Your mom?" Dean frowned at her as she took the pieces back and threw them into the bag, along with the t-shirt. "She just walked out?"

"Yeah. I came home from school one day and she was just gone. She'd packed her bags, took some money and her car, and disappeared." Cheyenne stared off into middle distance, her eyes unfocused. "I ended up in the ER that night."

Dean felt sick. The thought of that little girl in the photo coming home to find her mom had just walked out, and then having to deal with... "I'm so sorry."

"I don't blame her for leaving." She said lightly, still not looking back at him. "But I do blame her for leaving  _without_  me."

Dean had no idea how someone could do that to a child. How they could get up and walk out, abandoning them to whatever fate was waiting. How could anyone do that to another person, let alone a parent to their own child? "What happened to her?"

"No idea." She shrugged. "Never bothered to find out."

He wrapped one arm around her shoulder, pulling her in closer and pressing his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss, just like he'd done on the porch. "I'm so sorry..."

"It's not your fault." She pointed out, pausing for a second. "And it's over now."

It wasn't, not really. They both knew that, deep down. With the nightmares, the anxiety, and the constant ghostly presence of her father oozing out of every corner of the house, it was far from over. But as Dean held her, as he listened to her gentle breathing and felt her relax against him, he knew that it was  _better_. And for the moment, that was all he could hope for.


	29. Chapter 29

She was still trying to hide from him, and Dean knew it. She tried to hide how uncomfortable she was, how nervous she got when she heard a creak on the landing outside. She tried to hide her shaking hands when she woke in the middle of the night from a bad dream. She tried to hide the medication, getting up before she thought he was awake to take them before crawling back into bed with him. 

"You know you don't have to sneak around any more, right?" He said, not bothering to open his eyes as she slotted herself back into bed with him. He and Sam had been there for a week, and he was really starting to get used to lie-ins. It was going to be a rude shock to his system when they had to get back on the road. 

Cheyenne stiffened in his arms for a second. She obviously hadn't expected him to be awake. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise." Dean wrapped his arm around her more tightly, pulling her against him as he pressed his forehead into her shoulder. "Just... Let me in."

"Not used to doing that." She admitted quietly. He knew what she was thinking about. When she'd dealt with this before, she'd always done it alone. She'd never had anyone to turn to like this before, never had anyone to lean on. Over the years she'd built up so many defences it was difficult to show him how vulnerable she was. 

"I'm here." He kissed her shoulder blade gently as his arms tightened around her. "I've got you."

"I know you do." Her fingertips ghosted over the skin of his forearm absent-mindedly, and for a few moments neither of them spoke. Eventually, she broke the silence. "When are we going to talk about John?"

Dean stiffed behind her, every muscle in his body locking up. In an instant, all of the calmness that had washed over him since he'd been staying in Oregon evaporated, and he could feel that cold tension everywhere. "Don't do this..."

"Dean, we need to talk about what happened." She said quietly, frowning when his arm slid off her. He'd rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling instead. "It's been two months. I know you weren't ready the night we buried him but-"

"I don't want to talk about it, Chey."

She sighed, rolling over so she could face him. He refused to look at her. "Dean..."

"I said I don't want to talk about it." He repeated woodenly. "Okay?"

"You can't push me to talk about my dad and refuse to-"

"It's different." He interrupted sharply, glaring at her. "You  _know_  it's different."

"Do I?" She asked quietly.

Dean's eyes hardened at that, and after gritting his teeth he threw the covers off and got out of bed, turning his back to her her as he pulled on his jeans. As he reached for his shirt, Cheyenne huffed lightly and he turned to look at her, eyes narrowed a little. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" 

"Like that!" He pointed at her. "Like you're disappointed."

"I'm not disappointed, Dean." She said calmly. "I'm  _frustrated_. I get that none of this is easy for you, that you've never had to deal with anything like this before, but you can't keep pretending it didn't happen. I mean, how can you not see that after this week? Dean, something is going on that you're not telling me about, I know it."

" _Nothing_  is going on." He snapped, folding his arms defensively. "I just don't want to talk about it." 

Cheyenne couldn't help the groan that came out. She loved Dean, and she was grateful for everything he'd done for her over the past week, but this emotional constipation was driving her crazy. She'd opened up to Dean, as difficult as it had been for her, but he wasn't willing to even talk about John, or about what had happened. She was trying to be patient with him, but after two months of him ignoring Sam and dodging the topic, but it was getting harder to just sit back and watch him. 

"I'm worried about you." She said softly, frowning up at him. Dean didn't move from where he was by the door, but she saw his shoulders slump just a little as his face fell. "I know what you're going through, but you're not dealing with it."

Dean didn't say anything as she got out of bed, closing the distance between them quickly so they were face to face. His breath hitched in his throat as he looked down at her, and for a moment she thought he looked... Guilty. 

"You've helped me so much." She whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek gently, just like she had done the night of John's funeral. "This past week you've helped me so much, and I just want to be able to do the same for you."

Dean leaned into her touch, just like he always did, but she could see the uncertainty on his face. "It's not just... the fact that he's gone." 

This was the closest he'd gotten to talking about what had happened. Cheyenne moved a little closer, and he pressed his forehead to hers shakily, warm arms wrapping around her waist. "Then what is it?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but before he could they heard someone knocking on the door, and they jumped, springing apart. 

"If you kids are hungry there's hot coffee and breakfast on the table. I'd get down there before Sam finishes it all."

"We'll be out in a second." Dean called, shooting Cheyenne an apologetic look. When they heard Bonnie's footsteps down the hallway he sighed gently. "How about we talk about this later, hm?"

She couldn't help but feel like that was Dean's way of getting out of the conversation, but she didn't want to argue with him, so she just nodded. "Later. But you're not getting out of this that easily, you know."

Dean pressed his lips against her forehead in a gentle kiss, smiling. "Wouldn't dream of it. Come on, let's eat."

 

 

* * *

 

 

They didn't get the chance to have that conversation, despite Dean's promise. After breakfast, he and Sam offered to start moving furniture to the dump outside of town, and Cheyenne couldn't exactly ask them to put it on hold so she and Dean could talk. Instead, she offered to help them, in the hopes that she could pull Dean aside for a few minutes. They'd been working for only an hour when it happened.

"Let me get that for you." Sam offered, scooping a box out of Cheyenne's hands as she struggled to carry it out onto the porch. He lifted it up easily, shooting her a small smile before carrying it down the steps ahead of her. Dean walked out onto the porch, chuckling gently. 

"Yeah, you're not going to be doing much heavy lifting today." He assured her, smiling down at her. "Which I'm not apologising for."

"You guys are the perfect gentlemen." She teased, taking the much lighter box that he passed her. "Doing all my chores for me."

"Well, it's the least we could do." Dean's eyes lingered on her for a few moments more than entirely necessary, and for a second Cheyenne thought he was about to say something to her. Before he could though, they heard a crash from behind them, and when Cheyenne turned she saw Sam, collapsed on the floor by the Impala, writhing in pain. 

Dean moved just before she did, yelling his brother's name as he ran down the steps and across the path to get to him. Cheyenne followed closely behind him, tossing her box aside as she sprinted down towards the car. Sam was groaning in pain, pressing the heels of his palms against his forehead as he cried out. Dean pulled his younger brother up so he was practically in his lap, calling his name softly as he tried to soothe him. 

"What's happening?" Cheyenne whispered, helping him to keep Sam's head off the floor as he writhed around in pain. Weirdly, Dean didn't seem as panicked as she thought he would have been at the sight of his brother collapsing to the floor in a blinding pain. Had this happened before?

Sam stilled in their arms after a few more moments, his breathing shallow and rapid. Dean called his name a little louder, and after a second Sam's hazel eyes flickered open. The two brothers stared at each other wordlessly, and for a split second Cheyenne could have sworn they were communicating. When Sam struggled into a sitting position against the back door of the Impala, Dean let go of him, rocking back a little bit to look at him. 

"Sam?" She ventured quietly, resting a gentle hand on his knee. "Are you... Okay?"

He seemed surprised at her voice, almost as if he'd forgotten she was there, before nodding slowly, trying to put on a weak smile for her, which faltered and fell almost instantly. "Yep. Totally fine."

She narrowed her eyes, looking between him and Dean, who was struggling to meet her gaze. Clearly there was something going on between the two of them that they weren't telling her, and the thought of them keeping  _another_  secret from her was going to drive her insane. "Okay, enough."

"Excuse me?" Dean looked over, surprised at her cold tone. 

"You know, for professional liars, you two really suck at it." Cheyenne hissed, glaring over at him before shooting Sam an equally cold look. The younger Winchester looked down, a little embarrassed, but Dean held his ground. 

"This is private, Cheyenne. It's to do with the job, a need to know thing. And you _don't_."

"I don't give a  _shit_ , Dean. I'm getting really sick of you keeping me in the dark 'for my own good', because the last time you tried that it didn't exactly go well for either of us." She felt a little guilty about throwing that back in his face, but she knew that it would get to him, would get some kind of reaction out of him. "So stop lying to me, and tell me what's going on."

It did get a reaction out of him. The same anger she'd seen in his eyes the night of John's funeral was back, the same coldness she'd seen earlier in her bedroom. He opened his mouth to respond, but Sam cut across, interrupting them. 

"Dean, it's okay." He said gently. "She... She needs to know."

"No, Sam. She _doesn't_."

"Dean, she's a part of this!" Sam snapped, matching his older brother's glare. For a few moments, neither  of them spoke, and the only sound was Sam's still laboured breathing until eventually, Dean relented. 

"Fine." He muttered, rising to his feet and offering Sam a hand up. "Not out here though."

Cheyenne was still deeply confused, but as she led the brother's back up to the house and into her bedroom where they could have some privacy, she figured it was best not to push too hard. Dean wasn't in the mood to play around, she could see that from how tense his shoulders were, the surly glances he was shooting Sam. Instead, when she closed the door behind them and perched on her bed, she let them talk. 

"This is... kind of a long story." Sam began, ignoring the pointed glare from his older brother. "And it's... weird."

"There's not a huge amount you could tell me that would shock me anymore, Sam." Cheyenne said with a soft, smile. She was doing her best to be inviting, doing her best to coax him into telling her the whole story, from her gentle voice to her big, wide eyes. Even so, he couldn't help but chuckle at her naivety. There was something almost sweet about the fact that she legitimately considered a few ghosts and a demon to be the height of weirdness. 

"Don't speak too soon." Dean muttered, from where he was still leaning against her desk. Sam shot him a quick glare before moving to sit next to Cheyenne on the bed. 

"I get... Visions sometimes." He began quietly. "Sometimes they're like dreams, but they started happening when I was awake too. And they're always connected, in some way... To the demon that killed our mom, and killed Jess."

She didn't make any move to stop him or interrupt him, despite the fact that her eyebrows had just shot for her hairline, so Sam continued. "Something about what happened on the night our mom died... Gave me psychic powers. But I'm not the only one - I've already met a couple of people who have similar abilities to me. But I think I'm the only one who gets visions."

"And that's what that was, outside on the street?" She ventured. "You had another vision?"

"Y-yeah." Sam faltered, looking from Cheyenne to Dean, and then back again. "I've got to say, you're taking this pretty well. You're not... freaked out by this?"

"You should have seen her reaction when I told her ghosts were real." Dean murmured from the desk, and for a second Sam could have sworn his older brother sounded proud. "She really rolls with the punches, Sammy."

"So what was the vision?" Cheyenne asked quietly, still looking at Sam. When she said that, Dean finally crossed the room and joined them on the bed, sitting close enough to Cheyenne that their knees were touching. 

Sam frowned, and began to explain it, as fragmented as the vision was in his mind. They were in a dark room, there was a man tied to a chair, crying and begging for his life while a few people looked on. And then Dean walked in, followed by Cheyenne. Sam could hear her voice, pleading with Dean to stop, but he ignored her. Then he raised the gun, pointing it at the young man tied to the chair, and Sam heard a gunshot. 

"It didn't matter that the guy was begging, it didn't matter what Cheyenne said..." Sam murmured quietly, looking between them. "You just... Put a bullet in him." 

Dean inhaled slowly, a line appearing between his eyebrows as his brother spoke. By the time Sam finished, he couldn't look at the other two, and instead he just picked at a loose thread on his grey Henley. 

"So do these visions always come true?"

"Always." Sam whispered, nodding slowly. "Which means we need to try and... Find the guy in the vision."

"River Grove is a small town." She explained. "Describe him for me, chances are I've met him."

Sam closed his eyes, trying to picture the man tied to the chair. "He was uh... Blond. Young, maybe our age, or a little younger... And he had this... thin scar above his eyebrow."

Cheyenne raised an eyebrow. That sounded a lot like a kid from her year in high school, a quiet kid that she'd only talked to a few times, but had always seemed nice. "Duane Tanner... I know him."

"You do?" Dean looked up finally. "A friend of yours?"

"Not really..." She said quietly, shrugging. "We had some classes together but that was about it."

"You know where he lives?" Sam asked. She shook her head, frowning. 

"No. But there are a few people in town who could point us in the right direction. We could go now, if you want?"

"You don't have to come with us." Dean said quickly, almost on instinct. Sam saw a muscle jump in Cheyenne's jaw, and recognised the look that flickered over her face momentarily, before disappearing. He recognised it because it was an expression he'd sported many times in the past. It was the look of someone who was getting ordered around by Dean, and wasn't happy about it. 

"Dean..." She said quietly, her voice clipped with warning. " _Yes_ I do."

"You can just tell us who to look for." He said quickly. "We can go and find them ourselves and-"

Sam could sense an argument coming, so he decided to give them some space, making an excuse that he needed to use the bathroom. After the door closed behind him, Cheyenne turned to Dean pointedly, her lips pursed and one eyebrow cocked. If he hadn't gotten the picture from her tone of voice, he sure as hell got it from her facial expression. 

"This could be dangerous, Chey." He said quietly. "Sam's visions  _always_  have something to do with the Yellow-Eyed-Demon, and if you come with us and get hurt on my watch-"

"Dean, we've been through this already." She cut across him gently. "Putting me on the bench isn't going to make me any safer. Now Sam said that I was in his vision, right? Which means I'm going to be there, whether you make me stay here or not. So why don't you cut the crap and let me come with you, hm?"

Dean didn't know how to explain to her why he didn't want her with him. Of course he didn't want to risk her getting hurt; so far she'd been nearly stabbed and choked out by ghosts, he didn't want to risk that happening again. He didn't want her getting hurt because he'd let her tag along on a Hunt, particularly given how little they knew about whatever they were walking into. 

It was more than that though. He knew how much he'd changed since John's death, he knew he was colder and more violent. The anger that had been burning inside of him since they'd stood around the funeral pyre was only getting hotter and more dangerous, and at times Dean wasn't totally sure he was in control of it any more. At her house while he was relaxed, Dean could push it to the back of his mind, but he didn't want to risk her seeing him in the middle of a Hunt. He didn't want her to see just how ruthless he'd become, just how scary he was now. 

He knew deep down that it was pointless to argue with her. She was stubborn, maybe even more stubborn than he was. If he told her to stay back at the house, he risked her sneaking out and following him anyway, and that was probably more dangerous. Finally, he sighed, relenting. 

"Okay." He murmured, running a hand through his hair as he nodded. "But you've got to listen to everything I say, okay? You follow my lead, or Sam's."

She seemed okay with that agreement, nodding slowly as she leaned forwards to press a gentle kiss to his lips, one of her hands coming to rest on his and squeeze gently.

"Deal."


	30. Chapter 30

"So who are we looking for?" Dean asked as they turned onto the Main Street of the town. Cheyenne peered around from where she was sandwiched between Sam and Dean in the front seat, looking at some of the familiar faces. It had been a long time since she'd bothered to venture into the heart of town, but it was a little comforting to see people she recognised. The old woman who babysat her sometimes when she was young; the kid who'd pulled her pigtails in the fourth grade; the shopkeeper who bumped her to the front of the queue sometimes. 

"Mark Vargo. He taught Duane and me how to fish when we were kids..." She said quietly, craning her neck to look out of the window. "He'll know where he lives, I'm sure of it."

Dean pulled up to the side of the road, electing to walk around town to try and get a better look at the people, when Sam spotted a familiar face sitting on the porch of a house across the street. He was sorting out fishing equipment, occasionally smiling at passers-by. Sam nudged Cheyenne's arm gently, pointing to the guy. "He was there."

"That's Mark." She raised an eyebrow, looking back at Sam. "You saw him in your vision?"

"Yeah..." Sam murmured quietly, nodding slowly as Dean got out of the Impala. He was dressed the same as when Sam had seen him in the vision too, which made him uneasy. Whatever was going to happen, it was happening  _soon_. 

"You said he'd know where the kid was, right?" Dean said, giving Cheyenne a hand as she got out of the car. "Well let's go ask him some questions then."

Cheyenne took the lead, jogging across the road with the Winchesters in tow as she approached Mark, who was surprised to see her when he looked up. "Cheyenne? Cheyenne Foster, is that really you?"

"Hey, Mark." She smiled gently as he stood up, pulling her into a warm hug. It had been years since they'd seen each other - since Cheyenne had started College, she'd made a point of staying in River Grove as little as possible. It was a way of trying to survive, but it had the unfortunate side effect of isolating her from some of her friends in town, including him. Mark had served as a Master-Sargent in the marine corps, but under the gruff exterior was a sweet man. He'd offered to teach her how to fish when she was ten years old, and the semi-regular trips up to the creek had continued into her early teens, before her father had put a stop to them. Despite that, he'd always made a point of saying hello to her when they saw each other around town, and he'd always stayed friendly. 

"It's good to see you again, kid." He smiled gently, taking a step back to look at her properly. "God, look at you. All grown up."

She couldn't help but smile at his friendly tone. "Yeah, it's been a while since I've been back in town."

His smile faded a little, and he nodded once. "Yeah. I heard about everything that happened. I uh... I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She said quietly. It wasn't, and more importantly they both  _knew_  that it wasn't, but neither of them really wanted to comment on it. Instead, Mark looked over at Dean and Sam, who were stood behind her. 

"Friends of yours?"

"US Marshals; Gibbons and Beard." Dean reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, digging around until he could produce one of his fake ID's. Beside her, Cheyenne felt Mark stiffen a little, and his jaw locked. It wasn't exactly surprising - the most common form of law enforcement seen in the area was the highway patrol occasionally picking up a speeding teenager on the road out of town before delivering them home in the dead of night. The presence of Federal Officers was enough to make anyone in town uncomfortable. 

"They're looking for Duane Tanner." Cheyenne explained. "I figured you'd probably know where he lived."

"Duane's a good kid." Mark immediately tried to explain to Sam and Dean. "I don't think he'd be caught up in any trouble that would involve you guys."

Dean had been looking at the Marine Corps tattoo on Mark's forearm, visible past the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. He cocked his head in interest, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Kid's not in any kind of trouble, _Master-Sargent_."

For all his trepidation, Mark seemed a little impressed at Dean's observation, and even more impressed when he explained how he recognised the tattoo. "My dad was in the Marines. He was a Corporal."

"What company?"

"Echo 21." Even though she wasn't looking at him, Cheyenne could almost picture the pride shining in Dean's eyes at the thought of his father. She could hear it in his voice, hear the smile when he talked. 

"It's important, Mark." Cheyenne urged. At her insistence, he sighed, pointing up the Main Street of town wearily. 

"He lives up on Aspen Way with his folks." 

"Thanks for your help, sir." Sam shot him a small smile as the two brothers turned away, heading back to the Impala. Cheyenne went to follow them when Mark called her name, motioning her back over. Dean paused at the side of the road for her, but she nodded to him to carry on without her before turning back to the older man. 

"Everything alright?" She asked, leaning over the banister on his porch to look at him. He shot another uncertain look over her head at the retreating backs of the Winchester brothers. 

"You work for the US Marshal service now?" 

"It's more of a personal favour than anything." She felt bad lying to Mark, but telling him 'my boyfriends brother sees things before they happen' seemed like a bad move. Lying to him was probably a little easier, although given what Sam saw, it might not be worth much in the long run. 

"You take care of yourself, Cheyenne." He said quietly, offering her a still uncertain but friendly smile. "Stay out of trouble, you hear?"

"Yes sir." She threw up a mock salute, just like she had done when she was a little kid up by the creek outside of town. His uncertain smile turned into a genuine grin at that, and he stood up, pulling her into a tight hug over the banister, which she accepted gratefully. Hiding herself away at college had been a good way of keeping herself safe, but in distancing herself she'd forgotten that Oregon wasn't  _all bad_. 

"It's good to see you again, kiddo." He said quietly, giving her another quick squeeze before letting her go. After promising her that he'd take her back up to the creek to fish at some point soon, he sat back down to let Cheyenne walk back to the Winchesters, who were watching her from across the street. 

Sam smiled sadly as he watched Cheyenne hug the older man. He didn't know everything about her father, but he knew enough, from bits and pieces of information he'd managed to pry out of Dean. He knew enough to know why she didn't come home often, and he knew enough to know why the past week had been so difficult for her. 

"You alright?" He asked as she joined them on the sidewalk. Cheyenne nodded in response, and as they walked towards the car, she knocked her shoulder against a telephone pole. As her shoulder glanced off the wood, she saw something carved into it that made her pause.

"Hey..." She murmured softly, frowning down at it as she reached out to grab Dean's arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Check this out."

One word was carved into the wood in jagged capitals. As Cheyenne and Sam frowned down at it and exchanged confused glances, Dean looked between them, nonplussed. 

"Croatoan?" He read out slowly. "What's that?"

Sam and Cheyenne looked over at him in surprise for a second before exchanging another glance. "The lost colony? Roanoke?"

"Dean, do you not remember  _anything_  from history class?" Sam asked, folding his arms. His elder brother   shrugged defensively, stammering as he tried to come up with something. 

"Y-yeah, sure. You know, the shot heard 'round the world... How bills become laws..." His eyes darted between them as he tried to come up with something else, but Sam interrupted him. 

"Dean, that's not school. That's  _Schoolhouse Rock_."

Cheyenne shook her head in disbelief, narrowing her eyes at him. "How are we together? Dean, the Roanoke colony was one of the first English settlements. It disappeared without a trace by 1590, and all that was found was the word-"

Dean cut across her, realisation flooding over his face as he spoke excitedly. "The word Croatoan carved into a tree! Yeah, I remember that. Neat."

"Not necessarily." Sam didn't seem quite so excited by the revelation, frowning as he looked down at the word carved into the pole. "The whole colony was just wiped out, disappeared overnight... And no one knows what happened to them."

Cheyenne realised where his train of thought was headed before Dean did, and turned to face him properly. "You don't seriously think that's what's happening here, do you?"

Behind her, Dean scoffed, but Sam didn't seem any more at ease, just shaking his head gently in response. "I don't know. Maybe we should call Bobby to get some extra information on this? I kind of feel like we might be out of our depth here."

"Huh..." Dean murmured softly from behind Cheyenne. When she turned to look at him he was frowning down at his phone. "Out of service."

Cheyenne had left her cellphone back at the house in her haste to take the boys into town, but when Sam couldn't get any signal bars either, she jogged down the street to the nearby payphone. The thing had been around for as long as she could remember, and the last time she'd been in town it hadn't had any problems. When she picked the receiver up though, she couldn't even get a dial tone, and a familiar cold sensation settled in her gut. 

"Anything?" Dean asked as he stopped behind her. She hung the phone up, turning back to him with a frown as she shook her head silently. She didn't trust herself to speak, not with the fear that was creeping over her. The brothers exchanged uncomfortable looks over her head, and a muscle jumped in Dean's jaw as he clenched it. 

"I'll tell you one thing." He muttered, looking around at the people casually milling around the street. "If I was going to massacre a town, that'd be my first step."

His words sent a fresh jolt of fear through Cheyenne, and she shivered involuntarily, hugging her jacket around herself a little more. "So what now?"

"Well, whatever's going on, that kid Duane Tanner's got something to do with it." Dean looked at them both determinedly, digging the keys to the Impala out of his back pocket. "So how about we go find him?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Aspen Way was the last road out of town before you hit the dirt track that led to the creek, and as the three of them stepped out of the Impala, Cheyenne realised she had very hazy memories of driving through on her way to fish. It was the most rural part of her tiny town, and every house came with a large plot of leafy, secluded land. It was incredibly peaceful to walk towards the Tanner residence, Cheyenne's fingertips brushing gently against Dean's as they walked side by side. 

"You stick behind me, okay?" He said quietly, his voice barely above a low murmur as they took the stairs up to the front door and Sam knocked against the frosted glass twice. "Don't know what's going to be in there."

The door swung open, and Cheyenne recognised the young boy on the other side instantly, even though it had been a few years since they'd last seen each other. It was Duane's younger brother, Jake. She'd never really spoken to him, but she recognised him from around town, like she did with  _most_  of the people in Rivergrove. 

"Hi." Dean flashed his Marshal badge at Jake. "Looking for Duane Tanner. He lives here, right?"

Jake looked between them, his eyes settling on Cheyenne for a few seconds before he glanced back at Dean. "He's my older brother." 

"Is he in?" Sam asked, tucking his own badge back into his jacket. Jake turned his gaze to him, offering Sam a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"He went on a fishing trip, up by Roslyn Lake." 

"Are your parents in, Jake?" Cheyenne asked hesitantly. The teenager looked back to her, settling those unnerving eyes on her again. He didn't seem to recognise her at all, although given the amount of time she'd spent back home recently that was hardly surprising. 

"Yes, they're inside." He answered, shooting her that same smile that seemed just a little too cold to be genuine. From inside the house, they heard a man's voice calling out to him, and then Mr Tanner appeared behind his son, looking out at them suspiciously. 

"US Marshals sir." Dean explained. "Looking for your son, Duane."

"Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"Not at all. Just a couple of routine questions."

"When's he due back from his trip?" Sam asked quietly, looking between the father and son. He couldn't get a straight answer - Mr Tanner clicked his tongue a few times before shaking his head apologetically. 

"No idea, I'm afraid."

"Well, perhaps your wife knows." Sam pressed, looking over their heads and into the house. Cheyenne couldn't be certain, but she thought she saw Jake pull the door just a little more closed, almost as if on instinct.

"She's not in, I'm afraid. Out getting groceries."

Over Cheyenne's head, the brothers shared the same knowing glance.  _Somebody_  was lying. Cheyenne could sense it too, because she pressed Mr Tanner, folding her arms over her chest. "Jake said she was in."

"Oh, did I?" The teenager and his father shared a laugh, but just like the smile he'd shot her before it didn't quite reach his eyes. In fact, it almost seemed as thought there was no emotion behind his eyes at all when he laughed. There was something about the way the father and son smiled in unison, almost as if they were actors in a play, made Cheyenne inexplicably uneasy, and she felt herself recoil against Dean instinctively. 

"We'll drop by later to check in." Dean assured them, shooting them a forced smile. As the Tanners said goodbye and closed the door, Cheyenne realised that the brothers had both shifted so their shoulders were in front of her, effectively blocking her from them. As the three of them turned and headed down the steps, she couldn't help but shiver. 

"I take it they're not normally like that, then?" Dean asked, cocking an eyebrow. She shook her head, casting a final uneasy look back at the house. 

" _No_. That was... Creepy." She murmured. Dean nodded, gritting his teeth as he followed her gaze. 

"Yeah, seemed a little too  _Stepford_  for me." He agreed, pulling his Beretta from where he'd tucked it into his jeans. "Chey, get back in the car."

She watched as the two brothers checked their weapons and headed for the side of the house, leaving her alone at the foot of the front steps while they went to investigate. Common sense told her that heading for the car was the more sensible thing to do, but her natural curiosity won out. 

"Like hell." She muttered, dropping into a crouch as she followed the two brothers, creeping around behind them and almost making Sam jump when he heard her footsteps. Dean scowled at her when he turned to see that she'd followed them. 

"I thought I told you to stay in the car."

"Shut up." She hissed, stretching up so she could peek into the window of the house. All she could see was the empty front room, so she ducked back down and motioned for the brothers to keep going. As they crept along, Dean held up a hand to make them freeze, putting a finger to his lips. Something was going on inside the house. 

The two brothers stood up to peek into the kitchen. Inside, a blonde woman (presumably Mrs Tanner) was tied to a chair, sobbing and whimpering against the makeshift gag someone had put on her. Mr Tanner stood behind her, a knife in one hand, which he raised as Jake stepped forward. The teenager rolled the sleeve of his sweatshirt up, smirking down at the sobbing woman as his father sliced a straight cut across his forearm, watching as blood dribbled down in dark rivers onto his mother's skin. 

"Shit." Dean hissed, taking the safety off his gun with a  _click_  and giving Sam a curt nod. As if they'd managed to communicate silently over Cheyenne's head, they both crept towards the back door of the house. After a silent count to three, Dean kicked the door in, and the two brothers ran in, guns raised. From outside the house, Cheyenne heard someone yelling, four gunshots, and the sound of a window breaking. 

When she ran in, Beverly Tanner was tied to the chair, still sobbing through her gag. Behind her, her husband was slumped against the wall, a knife still hanging loosely in his grasp. Four bullet holes had ripped through him, killing him almost instantly, and as Cheyenne hung in the doorway in horror, she could see blood start to seep through the material, staining it. Sam and Dean were stood by the broken window as she stumbled in, looking out into the back yard where she assumed Jake had run off. 

"Beverly, Jesus..." She breathed, dropping to a crouch beside the older woman as she struggled to take her gag off. She was covered in blood, and angry bruises mottled her pale skin. Whatever had happened in the kitchen, it had been bad. "Guys, give me a hand here." 

"Help me..." Beverly begged them, sobbing in her chair as she glanced back at her dead husband. "Oh God... Oh God..." 

"It's okay Beverly." Cheyenne soothed as Sam cut through the ropes that bound her to the chair. "It's okay, we've got you. You're safe now." 

Her skin was rubbed raw from the rope burn, but other than the bruises she didn't seem to be seriously hurt. Sam offered to help her to the car while Cheyenne and Dean stayed in the kitchen. She couldn't help but stare down at the lifeless body of Mr Tanner, and at his glassy, unfocused eyes. 

"You okay?" Dean asked. He hadn't moved from his spot by the window. Cheyenne couldn't answer him for a few seconds, she couldn't find her voice. She'd grown up seeing this man around town, she'd said hello to him on the street hundreds of times. She'd seen him and his sons buying groceries, watched he and his wife do the school run. Mr Tanner had been her neighbour, and as far as she was aware, he'd been a good man. 

"I think so." She whispered uncertainly, finally turning away from the body and squeezing her eyes shut. It was no use, the image was burned into her mind's eye. Even when she closed her eyes, those four bullet wounds showed up through the darkness. 

"Hey." Dean's voice was soft as he put a hand on her shoulder. Cheyenne opened her eyes, turning to look at him slowly. 

The hard look from before had almost entirely melted away, and he was back to  _her_  Dean, not  _Hunter_  Dean. His green eyes were wide with concern, and when he pressed a finger under her chin to tilt her head up, it was gentle. "It's gonna be okay."

"This is all just... A lot to take in, I guess." She whispered, trying to avoid looking past him at the body. She couldn't help it though; her gaze still drifted over to the lifeless corpse, which had now slid down the wall far enough that it left a bloody stain against the wood. Dean caught her looking, and stepped into her line of sight, obscuring Mr Tanner. 

"I won't let anything happen to you." He promised, his voice barely above a whisper as his thumb ghosted over her cheekbone. "I'm right here, okay? As long as I'm around, nothing's going to happen to you."

"I know that." She croaked, blinking away the hot tears that pricked at her eyes. "That's not what I'm worried about though. If Jake and Mr Tanner attacked Beverly, how many more people are doing the same thing out in town?"

Dean's mouth settled into a hard line as he pursed his lips, trying to come up with an answer to comfort her. He couldn't think of one, so instead he settled for pressing a kiss to her forehead, in the hopes that it would be enough. He figured that it probably wouldn't be though, but it was all he could offer before he asked her to help him find a rug to roll the body up in.

 


	31. Chapter 31

When Dean pulled up to the medical centre, he, Sam and Cheyenne all exchanged uncertain glances. Since Sam had eased her into the back seat of the car, Beverly hadn't said a word. Instead, she'd just stared into middle distance, her eyes unfocused. Even when Sam helped her out of the car, and she and Cheyenne led her inside, she barely made a noise. 

The reception area was empty when they walked in, and as Sam supported Beverly, Cheyenne called out for help. "Doctor Lee, are you here?"

A young blonde Cheyenne didn't recognise ran out instead, skidding to a halt as she saw the three people in front of her. Her eyes widened with shock as she saw the blood covering Beverly. "Oh my God... Mrs Tanner, what happened?"

"She was attacked." Sam explained, as Dr. Lee came running from the examination room. At the sight of the bleeding woman, she stopped in her tracks as well. For a second, she couldn't speak at the sight of Beverly's bruised face, but her professionalism kicked in, and she motioned for Sam to bring the other woman into the examination room behind her. 

When she turned back to look at Cheyenne, recognition flickered across her face. Over the years, Dr. Lee had treated a number of Cheyenne's sprained wrists, fractured fingers and dislocated shoulders. "Cheyenne?"

"Hey, Doc." She smiled weakly at the older woman, offering an awkward wave in response as Dean walked in behind her, the body of Mr Tanner slung over his shoulder almost effortlessly. "How's it hanging?"

Dr. Lee's eyes widened at the sight of Dean carrying the other man. "Is that... Mr Tanner? Was he attacked too?"

Cheyenne and Dean shared an awkward glance before he spoke. "Ah well, no. He actually did the attacking, and then he got himself shot."

"Shot?" The doctor echoed, looking between the two of them before finally settling her gaze on Dean, who shifted the deadweight of Mr Tanner's body on his shoulders. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"US Marshal. I'd show you my badge but uh... Kind of have my hands full right now."

Dr. Lee stepped aside to allow Dean into the examination room with the body, before following him with Cheyenne. Inside, Sam was stood in the corner while Beverly's cuts were being cleaned by Pam. When Dean dropped the body rather unceremoniously onto the table, he joined Cheyenne where she'd frozen by the door. She had a lot of bad memories in this medical centre, perched exactly where Beverly was now, getting patched up after a particularly bad night at home.   

"You alright?" He asked softly, standing close enough that they were practically touching. Cheyenne looked up at him, swallowing hard past her nerves as she met his gaze. She wasn't okay. None of this was at all okay, but she couldn't show that. 

Dean needed to concentrate on the job at hand. He and Sam needed to focus on what was going on around them, and he couldn't afford to be distracted by babysitting her through her anxiety and holding her hand the entire way through this. So instead of just throwing herself into his arms, burying her head in his chest and sobbing like she really wanted, Cheyenne gave him a quick nod and a tight smile. 

"I'm hanging in there." She assured him. He didn't seem confident in her response, and leaned in instinctively to kiss her forehead gently, just like he had done back in the house. Out of the corner of her eye, Cheyenne saw Dr. Lee watching them. 

"I thought you were supposed to be a US Marshal, not my boyfriend." She whispered, keeping her voice low enough that the others couldn't hear. Dean pulled back a little, just enough to look her in the eyes.

"I can be both."

Cheyenne reached for his hand instinctively, knotting her fingers with his and squeezing them hard. It felt good, just to have him there beside her. Knowing he was there helped a little, it made her breathe a little easier. For a second he just looked down at her, before leaning in and pressing his lips to her forehead again in another kiss, cupping the back of her head with his free hand. 

"I'm sorry you had to see that." He whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as he spoke. He knew she'd seen a dead body before, and in all likelihood it wasn't going to be the  _last_  dead body she saw. Even so, he knew how difficult it must have been for her to walk in to see a neighbour on the floor with four bullet holes in his chest. 

"I know." She murmured, closing her eyes and leaning into him a little. More than anything, she wanted to just be able to curl up with him somewhere, close her eyes and wait for everything to be over, but she knew that wasn't going to happen. 

Further in the room, Beverly was explaining what had happened back at the house, still staring off into the distance tearfully. "I just... Don't know why they did this to me. One moment, they were my son an my husband. And the next it was like... It was like they had the Devil in them."

Cheyenne felt Dean stiffen at the words, and across the room he shot Sam a knowing glance, motioning towards the door to indicate he wanted to talk. When he and Sam walked towards the door, Cheyenne was surprised (and relieved) that Dean didn't let go of her hand, pulling her out with them into the reception area so they could talk. 

"So what do you think?" Sam asked. "Multiple demons, mass possession maybe?"

"If it is, there could be more. Could be dozens." Dean considered it for a second, clicking his tongue. "Of course, that's  _one_  way to take out a town - you take it from the inside."

It was like a switch had flipped in him. Cheyenne watched as  _her_  Dean, the one that held her close, kissed her forehead and assured her everything was going to be alright melted away, and the  _hunter_  Dean reappeared. He stood straighter, with his eyes narrowed a little as he thought. When he spoke, he seemed so detached from the scenario, so emotionless that it would have been scary if she didn't trust him so much.

"You know if you'd taken out the other one..." Dean said coldly, looking up at his brother with a disapproving frown. "It'd be one less of them to worry about."

"Well I'm sorry, Dean." Sam snapped, folding his arms defensively. "I hesitated. It was a kid."

"No, it was an _i_ _t_." Dean corrected harshly. "Not the best time for a bleeding heart, Sam."

Dean turned at the sound of Dr Lee's footsteps in the room, but while his back was to them, Cheyenne and Sam shared concerned glances. Was this how Dean behaved on hunts? Cold and ruthless to the point that it scared even his brother? Was this the reason Sam had called her at 1AM to talk?

"What the hell just happened out there?" Dr. Lee demanded, glaring at the three of them. "You just shot my next door neighbour."

"We didn't exactly have a choice." Dean snapped, folding his arms. The doctor looked at him for a few seconds before sighing. 

"Well, maybe so, but we'll need the county sheriff down here. And I'm going to need the coroner. I just tried the phones and they're down, and I can't get any cellphone service either. Have you got a radio in the car?"

Sam made up some lie about having a radio that stopped working around the same time as everything else, which she seemed to buy, but didn't exactly seem thrilled about. Dean, meanwhile was silent. He was thinking.

"How far is it to the next town?" He asked Cheyenne. 

"It's about forty miles down to Sidewinder." She shrugged, before realising why he was asking. "You're not thinking about going down there on your own, are you?"

He looked over at her head at the doctor. "I'm going to go out there and get us some help. My partner here is going to stick around, keep you folks safe." 

Dr. Lee seemed satisfied with his answer, and at the promise of help she decided to return to her patient, while Dean headed for the door. Cheyenne followed him, grabbing his arm before he could walk out. 

"You're going out there alone?" She repeated. "We  _just_  said we've got no idea what's going on around here, and you think it's a good idea to split up?"

"We don't have a whole lot of choice." Dean pulled his hand from her grasp gently. "Sam'll stay here and keep you guys safe, but somebody needs to get out of here and get some help. And there's no way in Hell I'm letting you go out there."

"Dean-" She protested, but he cut her off with a gentle smile. 

"I'll be fine, Sweetheart. I'm a professional, remember?"

That didn't seem to relax her at all, so instead Dean pressed a quick kiss to her lips, pulling her in so close that her chest hit his. "I'll be back before you know it, okay? Just stay inside, with Sam. I mean it."

"Be  _careful_  out there." She whispered, still frowning up at him. He smiled gently in response, giving her hand a quick squeeze as he opened the door to the medical centre. 

"I always am."

Cheyenne watched him walk out to the Impala and get in, sighing as the engine roared to life and he sped off. When he was out of sight she turned and walked back into the examination room, where Dr. Lee was talking to Beverly, trying to keep her calm as she questioned the older woman. 

"You don't think... I'm sick like them, do you?" Beverly asked tearfully, looking around at the three of them imploringly. Cheyenne joined Sam at the doorway, watching the scene with a frown. 

"Beverly, I don't know what to think." Dr. Lee admitted. "But I'd like to take a blood sample, with your permission."

For a few seconds, Beverly looked around the room at each of them again slowly, considering it before reaching over and patting the doctor's hand with a small smile. She didn't say anything, but after a moment her grip on the other woman's hand became tight, and even from her place by the door Cheyenne could see her nails digging into the skin. 

Before any of them could react, Beverly yanked Dr. Lee's arm hard, so that she fell forwards and was within striking distance. After landing a solid punch to the other woman's left cheek that sent her reeling backwards across the room, Beverly screamed, leaping off the examination table. Sam was the first to move, running to try and restrain her, but the older woman turned on him before he could make it across the room.  _Somehow_ , in a way that Cheyenne couldn't understand, Beverly Tanner picked Sam up by the front of his shirt and flung him backwards with so much force that he slammed into a medicine cabinet, shattering the glass. 

By the time Beverly had turned to Cheyenne, she'd picked up a scalpel from the nearby table, and held it in one balled up fist. Her face twisted into a gruesome scowl as she screamed again, launching herself towards Cheyenne. 

She wasn't sure when she'd picked up the fire extinguisher from beside the door, but as Beverly came charging at her, Cheyenne hefted the cylinder in her hands once before swinging, hard. The metal connected with the side of the older woman's head in an instant with a sickening crunch, and like a switch had been flipped, the noise stopped and Beverly fell to the floor in a crumpled heap at Cheyenne's feet. 

"Are you okay?" Sam asked quickly, picking himself up from the floor and running over to her. Cheyenne couldn't even look at him. Every muscle in her body had locked up as soon as she'd swung the fire extinguisher, and now she couldn't tear her eyes away from Beverly's body. "Hey, Cheyenne..."

The extinguisher was eased from her shaking hands by Sam, who let it drop to the floor beside them as he forced her to look up at him. As soon as she dragged her gaze from Beverly, and was looking up into Sam's warm eyes, Cheyenne felt herself relax, just a little. 

"It's okay." He whispered. 

"Is she dead?" 

"No, I don't think so." Sam kept his voice low and soft as he spoke, stepping tactfully into her line of sight to block Beverly's body in the same way Dean had done back at the Tanner house. "Just knocked out cold. 

"She was sick, like the others." Cheyenne whispered. "Wasn't she?"

"Probably." Sam sighed. "Maybe it was blood to blood contact, I mean we saw Jake slice his arm back at the house..."

A wave of nausea swept over Cheyenne as she realised Jake was somewhere running through the town, only a few streets away from her house. If he was infected, there was a chance other people could be as well.

Her Nana could be in danger, Bonnie too.

"Cheyenne, where are you going?" Sam called after her as she turned and walked out of the room and into the reception area. She ignored him and headed for the door, but thanks to his long legs he caught up to her easily and managed to grab hold of her arm, stopping her. 

"Sam, let go of me!"

"You can't go out there." Sam urged. "We've got no idea what's going on in town, it's safer if we stay in here until Dean gets back."

Even as he spoke, Sam knew it was no good. He knew Cheyenne was too much like Dean, too headstrong, too stubborn. There was no way she was going to listen. Sam could see the determination in her eyes. 

"Chey..." He began, but she shook her head. There was no way she was leaving her Nana out there. Even the thought of her out there in danger was enough to make Cheyenne's stomach turn. 

"I can't leave her out there Sam. If there's a chance she could get hurt out there, I have to go and get her." 

With that, she pulled her arm out of his grasp and turned away again, walking towards the door. Her hand was on the lock bar when she heard his voice again, softly behind her. "Wait a second."

She half expected him to push his way in front of the door and force her back inside, but instead he pulled his pistol out from the back of his jeans. Sam hefted the gun in his hand for a moment, obviously conflicted as he weighed the pros and cons of letting her out into town alone. Eventually, he handed it over, pursing his lips. "Take this. If something comes at you, don't hesitate." 

Cheyenne took it from his grasp, surprised by how heavy it was, and how large it looked in her hand compared to his. She tucked it into the waistband of her jeans, shooting him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Sam."

"If Dean gets back before you do, I won't be able to cover for you." 

"I'm not asking you to." Cheyenne pointed out, pushing the door open and shooting him one last smile before heading into town.


	32. Chapter 32

Rivergrove had a population of about 300 people, so it had never really been busy or bustling, but as Cheyenne stepped out onto the street and heard the door to the medical centre swing shut behind her, she realised just how scary silence could be. As she crept down the sidewalk her footsteps seemed so loud she was almost certain someone was going to hear her, and every few moments she paused, glancing around to check if she was being followed. 

There was nothing, and no-one. The streets around her were deserted, and as she gained a little confidence, Cheyenne picked up the pace. Soon enough she was jogging down the street, feeling for the keys to her Ford pickup in the pocket of her jeans. If she could get home, she could bundle her Nana and Bonnie into the car, and be back before Dean even knew that she was gone. Of course, he'd know as soon as he saw two new people in the medical centre, but Cheyenne figured she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. 

As Cheyenne ran down the street, she passed a few abandoned vehicles, and paused to peer inside. Some of them looked as though the owners had just jumped out to grab something, but on the corner of Main Street and Pilkington Road, Cheyenne spotted a car that made the breath hitch in her throat. 

The glass of the driver's window had been smashed, and glass littered the front seat and the ground beneath the front door. As she neared it though, Cheyenne recognised a familiar sinking feeling in her stomach. The broken glass around the frame was smeared with blood, and as she crouched by the car, Cheyenne realised she could see more blood covering the steering wheel and smeared across the leather of the seat. A quick glance around the car told her that whoever had once driven it was long gone, but she couldn't help the nerves that started when she straightened up. 

When she started to walk again, she moved faster, trying to ignore the puddle of blood that she passed outside the convenience store, or the abandoned bag in the middle of the street that she nearly tripped over. When she came across an abandoned pushchair though, Cheyenne had to stop again, peeking into the pushchair uncertainly. She wasn't totally sure she  _wanted_  to know what was in there when she crouched down, but as she leaned in close, Cheyenne realised it was empty. Perhaps the baby and parent had run and found somewhere safe? 

Even if they had, she decided staying out in the open probably wasn't a smart move, so instead she straightened up again and took off down the street, near enough sprinting the next two blocks to her house. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam had decided it was safer to move Beverly Tanner while she was still unconscious, so after he watched Cheyenne leave, he and the doctor moved her body into the storage room that they could lock. Afterwards, she'd decided to start examining Mr Tanner's blood, in the hopes of finding out exactly what caused him to attack his wife. 

"Huh..." She murmured, cocking an eyebrow as she peered into the microscope. Sam turned to face her from where he'd been looking at the body of Mr Tanner. 

"What's up?"

"His body was fighting off an infection." She said quietly, still looking into he microscope. "But... I've got no idea which one. I mean, I've never heard of one that could do this to blood..."

"Do what?" Sam walked over, taking the seat beside her. 

"There's a weird residue in the blood." She explained, sighing. "I mean, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it was sulphur."

She wasn't looking at Sam, but if she had, she would have seen the flicker of fear across his features as he looked back at Mr Tanner's body. He knew from countless demon encounters that sulphur was a sign of demonic possession, but he'd never heard of a demonic  _virus_  before.

"Marshal, what did you partner mean?" Dr. Lee asked, finally turning to look at him. "When he said you would 'keep us safe'? Keep us safe from what exactly?"

Sam faltered at that, looking from the doctor to her young assistant, the blonde who had ushered them inside when they'd first arrived, but who had remained mostly silent since then. "I uh... We aren't exactly sure."

"And you let Cheyenne go out there by herself?" Dr. Lee raised an eyebrow. "I don't think your partner will be very happy about that."

"Uh, yeah..." He admitted. "He's going to be pretty pissed when he gets back. But knowing Cheyenne, she'd have snuck out anyway as soon as my back was turned. She's... determined."

"That's one word for her." The doctor agreed, cocking an eyebrow. "How long have you known her for?"

"She's been with my...  _Partner_ for a while now..." Sam said slowly. "But we met for the first time like... Half a year ago. How'd you know her?"

"Rivergrove's a small town." Lee pointed out, easing herself into a chair. "She was... A good kid. Quiet, kept to herself a lot really."

Sam tried to picture Cheyenne as a child, but the only image that came to mind was a slightly shorter, poutier version of the Cheyenne he knew. Maybe with pigtails for the full effect. It was still cute, but he assumed it was a little inaccurate. "Yeah she's uh... She's great."

For a few moments they were silent. Lee was thinking about her two next door neighbours - one had been shot and killed by (what she thought were) US Marshals, and the other had tried to kill her. Their sons, meanwhile, were no-where to be found. Sam was thinking about Dean, hoping that he'd managed to make it to Sidewinder to try and get them some help. He was thinking about Cheyenne too, worried that he'd made the wrong call by letting her go out there by herself. Jesus, Dean was going to be pissed when he got back and found out she'd gone out there alone. 

He didn't have time to dwell on it, however. After only a few minutes, Sam heard a familiar engine outside, quickly getting louder. As he walked out of the examination room and into the reception area, Sam heard the squeal of breaks as the Impala ground to a halt outside the medical centre, the slam of doors and then two sets of footsteps. Dean appeared at the door, knocking quickly. Behind him was Mark Vargo, the  man they'd seen earlier that morning. 

The man who'd been in Sam's vision. 

Sam let the two of them in, checking outside quickly as he closed the door behind them. There was no sign of Cheyenne out in the street. "You're back quickly."

"Couldn't even get over the bridge. Bunch of folks have blockaded the road, attacked me when I got too close." Dean sighed, glancing over at Dr Lee and her assistant as they joined the men in the reception area. "Picked up the Sarge on my way back into town."

Sam shot Mark a hesitant nod of greeting, which the older man returned. For a few moments, no-one spoke, and Sam waited with bated breath for Dean's inevitable question. Finally, after he'd looked around at everyone and heard no sign of her elsewhere in the medical centre, Dean asked. 

"Where's Cheyenne?"

Sam's face betrayed him before he could even answer his older brother, and by the time he looked up at him, Dean was stony faced. "Sam, where is she?"

"Dean..." He began apologetically, but he was cut off before he could explain. 

"Tell me you didn't let her out there." Dean took a single step towards Sam, but it was so threatening that he couldn't help but recoil. If he thought about it, Sam wasn't actually sure he'd ever seen his brother so angry before. " _Tell me_  that you didn't let her wander out into town with God-knows-what out there."

"She was worried about her family, Dean."

"I don't give a  _shit_ , Sam!" He yelled, taking another step forward so he was almost in his brother's face. "You were supposed to keep her safe, in here!"

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Dean was turning red with anger, and it was taking every inch of Sam's self-control not to scream back at him. Instead, he took a moment to compose himself before speaking. 

"You gonna hit me?" He asked softly. 

"I might." Dean snapped. "What the hell were you thinking, letting her go out there like that?"

Sam chuckled, but there was no humour in his eyes as he shook his head. "You've met her, right? Do you seriously think there's any way I could have stopped her?"

"You could have  _tried_ , Sam!" He snapped. "She's like a foot shorter than you, you could have picked her up and thrown her over your God-Damn shoulder if you'd wanted!"

"Dean, she had every right to look for her family -" Sam started, but he cut him off with a sharp bark of angry laughter. 

"Really? That's the excuse you're going with? She's a  _civilian_ , she isn't trained. And she sure as Hell isn't going to  _get_  trained. This _isn't_ her life, you understand me? So the next time I tell you to keep her safe, you'd better think of some real creative ways to keep her inside, or I swear to God-"

" _What_ , Dean?" His resolve snapped. He  _knew_  he should have tried harder to keep Cheyenne inside the building, and he  _knew_  he probably shouldn't have encouraged her by handing over his gun, but from where Sam was stood, Dean was hardly in a position to get angry about her concern for her family. "What are you gonna do, huh?"

Dean couldn't come up with an answer to that. Instead, he curled his lip, scowling up at his older brother for a moment before turning on his heel and heading back for the door. He wrenched it open, pausing for just a moment to throw Sam another murderous look. 

"She'd better be alive." He snarled, before storming out. The door slammed shut behind him, and a few seconds later, Sam heard the roar of the Impala's engine, and the screech of tyres as he burned rubber in the parking lot. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The silence was overwhelming when Cheyenne turned onto her street, and for a few seconds, she had to stop. When she started walking again, her footsteps were slower, more cautious. Everything about this seemed so familiar, yet at the same time so completely alien. All of the individual parts were the same as they had been for years, from the unbleached street sign with letting so faded you could barely read it until you got close, to the old oak tree she'd tried to climb on more than one occasion as a child. Despite that, all of this seemed like a world away from the street she'd grown up on.

Cheyenne approached her house cautiously, giving the deserted street one more quick glance before taking the steps up to the front door. Someone had been on the porch recently, judging by the tray of tea and biscuits that had been laid out. It didn't look like anyone had left in a hurry, and Bonnie's car was still parked outside the house next to Cheyenne's, so she assumed they were still in the house. After inhaling deeply to try and steady her resolve, Cheyenne pushed the front door open. The hinge creaked a little more loudly than she would have wanted, and for a second she froze, wincing involuntarily, waiting with bated breath for something to leap out at her. 

Nothing came, and after a few seconds Cheyenne felt it was safe enough to continue into the house, not bothering to close the door behind her for fear of making it creak again. The front room was empty, but she did spot her cellphone on the coffee table, which she pocketed before remembering that the town had become a deadzone, rendering it completely useless. Nonetheless, she felt a little better having it with her, and after tucking it into her back pocket, Cheyenne continued through into the kitchen. 

It was empty, but on the counter Cheyenne could see three plates set up with sandwiches, presumably made by Bonnie for when she and the brothers returned. Two of the sandwiches were finished and cut up, but the third hadn't been sliced in half, and for some reason that made Cheyenne pause as she made her way through the kitchen. For a second, she couldn't work out what was wrong as she looked down at the counter, but when she realised the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. 

There was no knife on the counter. 

 _Focus, Cheyenne_. She told herself sternly, closing her eyes for a brief moment.  _Find the knife before you start panicking._

It wasn't on the counter beside the plates, or anywhere else on the counter when she checked. When she checked the sink, Cheyenne could see the dishes hadn't been done, but there wasn't a knife among them, and it hadn't been put back into the knife block either. It wasn't in the kitchen. 

Instinctively, Cheyenne pulled Sam's gun out as she continued out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Just because the knife wasn't in the kitchen, she wasn't  _necessarily_ in danger, but it wasn't exactly comforting either.

 When she couldn't hear anything downstairs, Cheyenne considered going upstairs to look for them, but as she turned in the hallway, she realised the back door was open a crack. Cheyenne dropped into a crouch as she approached the door, her heartbeat picking up as she approached it. After counting to three in her head, she pulled the door open a little more so she could see out into the back yard. 

She wished that she hadn't. 

At the foot of the steps to the back yard, Cheyenne could see drops of blood scattered along the wooden decking, leading to a trail along the grass. When she peered down the garden, it wasn't hard to spot the source of the blood. 

Bonnie was about halfway down the garden, covered in streaks of blood, so bright that it almost looked cartoonish. Her movements were awkward and slow, which Cheyenne realised with a sinking sensation was because of what she was dragging along in her arms. A lifeless figure, so limp that it could have been a rag doll. Cheyenne recognised the rose print dress instantly though, despite the blood. 

It was her Nana. 

A wave of nausea swept over Cheyenne, and she had to grip the edge of the door to steady herself for a second, while hot tears pricked at her eyes and blurred her vision. She'd been too late. She'd wasted too much time at the medical centre, maybe if she'd told Dean to come straight back here before he'd taken off, maybe if she'd run faster she could have gotten there in time. 

She didn't have time to dwell on it though. Out in the street behind her, Cheyenne heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine, and realised Dean must have had to come back into town, and had found her missing. Her head snapped around instinctively at the noise, and from where she was crouched by the back door, Cheyenne could see all the way down the hallway, through the still-open front door and out into the street. Sure enough, after a few seconds the Impala swung into view. 

Instead of running out of the house to Dean immediately, Cheyenne looked back into the yard one last time, and again she wished that she hadn't. Bonnie had dropped her Nana's body on the grass in a crumpled heap, and had turned to look for the source of the noise. Unfortunately, from her spot at the door, Cheyenne was right in her field of view. When she turned back to look at the garden, Cheyenne realised Bonnie was staring straight at her. When they made eye contact, Bonnie's mouth twisted into a horrifying smile, the kind she'd only seen once before. 

It was the same smile she'd seen right before McGinley had attacked her. 

" _Shit_." Cheyenne hissed, scrambling to her feet. For once, her fight-or-flight reflex had kicked in properly, and as soon as she was on her feet, she ran down the hallway to the front door. Once she was out on the front porch, Cheyenne took the steps down to the sidewalk two at a time, stumbling a little on the last one so that she nearly ran straight into Dean, who was headed for the house. He caught her easily with his left hand, pulling her behind him expertly as he raised his gun with his right, pointing it towards the door she'd run out of. After only a few seconds, Bonnie ran out too, knife raised as she howled in a way not entirely unlike the noise Beverly had made back in the medical centre. Dean fired, twice and the noise stopped. 

Cheyenne didn't even realised she'd squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into his shirt, but after she'd caught her breath, she opened them a crack to look back at the house. Bonnie's crumpled body lay on the porch, knife still in hand as blood pooled out of her. Her head lolled to one side, so that it almost looked like she was staring right at them with glassy, lifeless eyes. Cheyenne turned her head back into Dean's shirt, drawing in a shuddering breath as she tried to calm herself down. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked gruffly. 

"No." She whispered, finally looking up at him.

If she thought he'd gotten angry when she'd asked him about John, it was nothing compared to how furious he was now. His jaw was set into one line, his face threatening to twist into a scowl as he finally looked down at her. Cheyenne realised that he hadn't loosened his vice-like grip on her arm. 

"I told you to stay inside." He said coldly, tucking his gun away and turning her towards the Impala. "With Sam."

Cheyenne couldn't come up with a good answer for that, so when Dean wrenched open the front passenger's seat to the car and let go of her arm, she just crawled inside silently, avoiding eye contact. Dean slammed the door shut behind her before walking around to his own seat, getting in and driving off with a screech of the tyres. They didn't speak during the drive back to the medical centre, and for some reason, it only made Cheyenne angry. Sure, going out there alone wasn't the smartest move she'd ever made, but he couldn't exactly expect her to act rationally with everything that was going on, could he?

Dean swerved into a parking spot with a painful screech and shut off the engine, getting out of the car without looking at her. She followed suit, making sure to slam the passenger door behind her as she got out and joined him on the sidewalk

"Inside." His voice came out almost like a growl as he pointed at the clinic with his Beretta. " _Now_."

Cheyenne was visibly shaking with anger, and there was a part of her that wanted to tell him to fuck off simply out of principle, but the more rational part of her knew how dangerous staying outside was, so she followed the order. She stormed ahead of him into the clinic, pushing past Sam as he held the door open for her without a word until she was in the reception area. Even then, she didn't want to be around the others, so she made a beeline for the supply closet. As least in there she could find something to break. 

Dean had other ideas. As soon as he was inside the building he yelled her name so loudly she froze on the spot, and turned slowly to face him. He was vaguely aware of the three strangers who were  _also_  stood in the foyer watching them, but at that moment he didn't care. He didn't care about anything else, except how angry he was with her. "What the  _hell_  do you think you're doing?"

"Did you seriously think I was just going to sit here and wait?" She snapped, staring at him incredulously. 

He took a few steps closer to her as he spoke. "So you just, what - thought you could go out there and take out whatever came at you huh?"

"I took a gun with me Dean, I'm not an idiot."

"Oh!" he looked over at Sam, feigning laughter. "She took a  _gun_ , Sammy! I didn't realise we were in here with Annie fuckin' Oakley!"

Sam didn't respond, not even with the awkward, tight-lipped smile that he normally would do. It was clear he didn't want to be caught up in the middle of this argument, even though Dean was just as angry with him as he was with Cheyenne. Dean looked at him for a few seconds, the mocking laughter fading from his face and giving way to stone cold rage as he turned away from his brother and back to Cheyenne, who hadn't moved. "I just want to know what the  _hell_  was going through your head, huh? Walking out there  _alone,_ I mean you're lucky you're not dead!"

"I couldn't just sit here -" She started to defend herself, but Dean cut her off, closing the gap between them so they were only inches apart. 

"I told you to stay right here." He snapped. "So why the hell do I come back thirty minutes later and find you half-way across town, huh?" 

"I had to do something!"

"I gave you an order!" He yelled. "And when someone gives you an order, Cheyenne, it usually means you're supposed to follow it!"

Cheyenne's eyebrows shot up in surprise at that, and for a moment, it was almost as if she couldn't find the words to articulate what she was thinking. When she spoke, it was like she couldn't believe what she was saying. "Wow... You are so like your father."

"Better mine than yours."

The words came out instantly, without Dean even thinking about them, and a horrifying silence followed, while his brain caught up to his mouth, and he realised what he had said. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, and he'd come to regret them for a long time afterwards. He half expected her to slap him - he wouldn't have blamed her if she had, if he was honest.

Instead, she just shook her head in disbelief, angry tears shining in her eyes. "Classy, Dean. Real classy."

"Guys." Sam said softly from behind them, trying his best to break the tension. "We need to talk about what's going on."

"Tell me you've figured out what's causing this." Dean muttered, finally turning away from Cheyenne and looking back at his younger brother. "So we can stop it and get the hell out of here."

"It's a virus of some kind. That leaves sulphur in the blood." Sam said pointedly, watching as the other three shuffled out of the reception area awkwardly, in the hopes that Sam could diffuse the argument without them. 

"Demonic virus..." Dean murmured, sighing. "Fantastic. Just what we need."

"There's more." Sam continued, feeling a little more confident now that Cheyenne and Dean weren't looking ready to kill each other. "In Dad's journal, he wrote about Roanoke. He thought Croatoan was the name of a God. A God of plague and pestilence, going from place to place and wiping people out. But it doesn't explain why it's happening here and now."

Dean was about to answer when he heard a panicked call from the Mark in the examination room. "Hey, there's one in here!"

"It's the wife." Sam explained as they followed Marks' panicked cries. He was stood in front of the door to the supply room, peering inside through the pane of glass. "She attacked us just after you left, we had to put her in there."

Dean's gun was already drawn as he approached the door, and the safety was taken off with a click that made the doctor's assistant, Pam, gasp. She stared between them in horror, shaking her head. "You can't just... Are you going to just  _shoot_  her? Like an animal?"

"We don't have a choice." Mark said quietly. "These things are strong. The longer we wait, the stronger she'll get. I saw it happen to my neighbours."

That seemed to be all the encouragement Dean needed. Without waiting for anyone else to speak, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, gun raised. Cheyenne half expected to hear Beverly scream and attack him, just like she had done before, but instead she heard... Crying?

"Mark..." She sobbed. "Mark, they tied me up in here... Oh God, Mark they're  _infected_. They locked me up in here... Please, you've got to help me, they want to kill me..."

Mark turned away from the door, looking at Cheyenne tearfully, shaking his head as he walked away from the supply closet. "I can't watch this..."

"Are you sure she's infected?" Dean asked Sam quietly. After a moment's pause, Sam nodded slowly, frowning and turning his head so he didn't have to watch either. Dean didn't bother to wait for further confirmation, he just raised the gun and fired three bullets into Beverly Tanner's chest, and in an instant, the pleading stopped.


	33. Chapter 33

Hours passed, and the six survivors were still trapped in the medical centre. Outside in the darkness, Cheyenne and Mark could see a few of their old neighbours milling around at the end of the street, keeping their distance by staying just close enough so that they knew they weren't alone. On the opposite side of the room, Sam and Dean loaded and checked their weapons, laying them out on a table. Sam could see his older brother shooting glances at Cheyenne every few moments, and a part of him wanted to scream ' _just talk to her_ ' at him, but he knew it would be useless. Dean was too stubborn for that. 

They worked in silence, pausing every so often to lay a gun down on the table or hunt for ammunition, but Sam noticed that Cheyenne stayed by the window, keeping as much distance between her and Dean as possible. He had a feeling she wasn't going to forgive him for what he said any time soon.

None of them had spoken about Beverly's execution, expect for Pam, who'd asked Sam to get a sheet to cover the body. He'd obliged. It seemed like the least he could do for her after she'd had to watch a neighbour get shot. 

The crash of glass hitting the floor broke the silence, and at the sound of Pam's scream Sam and Dean were on their feet in seconds, running into the examination room with Mark and Cheyenne on their heels. Pam had dropped one of the vials of blood, and had leapt back in horror. "Oh God, is it on me? Did I get it on me?"

Dr. Lee crouched down beside her. "You're okay, you're okay... Don't worry."

Her soothing voice didn't seem to calm the younger woman down at all, and she shuddered, backing away from the pool of blood. "Can we just... Get out of here? Please? I mean  _why_  are we still here, huh?"

"She's got a point." Sam said quietly, turning away from Pam's panicking to look at Dean, Cheyenne and Mark. "We can't stay here much longer. It's not safe."

Dean nodded in agreement. " _Night of the Living Dead_ didn't exactly end pretty."

Mark didn't seem so convinced, and cast him a concerned look. "Lots of the folks up here are good with rifles, you know. Even with your hardware, we'd be walking around with targets on our backs. Unless you've got explosives or something."

"Well, explosives are the one thing we  _ain't_  got."

Sam glanced down at Cheyenne, who was stood beside him looking up at one of the cabinets, an eyebrow raised. "What's up?"

"Well..." She walked over to the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of alcohol. "We could make some..."

Sam caught his older brother's expression. Dean  _knew_  he was in trouble with Cheyenne, so he didn't make a comment, but he sure as hell looked proud of her, just for a second. He didn't have time to agree with her though, because a moment later they heard banging on the front door. 

"Hey, come on, let me in!" 

It was a male voice, Sam realised as he and Dean raced to the front door, guns raised. As he approached the door, Sam recognised the pale man stood in front of him, blond hair slicked against his forehead from sweat. It was Duane Tanner. 

Sam unlocked the door to let him in, and Duane practically fell into the room, panting. "Thank you, Jesus Christ..."

He didn't have much time to be grateful though. Dean grabbed the younger man by the arm and hauled him further into the clinic, pushing him into the examination room. "Doc, give him a checkup. Now."

At the sharp tone of his voice, Dr Lee moved to examine the young man, who was babbling almost incoherently. Cheyenne managed to catch some of it. He'd been on a fishing trip up by the lake. He'd come back into town a few hours ago, only to see his neighbours getting dragged out of their homes, getting sliced up in the streets. Apparently he'd hidden in the woods for hours before trying to come back into town, which was when he'd stumbled into the clinic. 

Dr Lee crouched beside Duane, frowning when she saw a bloody stain on his jeans. "You're bleeding..."

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Out of the corner of her eye, Cheyenne saw Dean take his gun out and cock it, pointing it directly at Duane, who cried out in surprise. Sam moved a step closer to Duane, shuffling a little so his shoulder blocked Cheyenne, just like he had done earlier that morning when they'd gone to the Tanner house. Even Mark seemed uneasy at the cut on Duane's leg, despite the fact that he'd known the kid his whole life.

"Get some rope, tie him up." Dean ordered Mark, keeping the gun on Duane, who was visibly shaking in his seat. "Did they bleed on you?"

"What?  _No_."

"Is there any way to know for sure if he's clean?" Cheyenne asked Dr Lee, who shook her head apologetically. She'd backed up almost to the other side of the room when she'd spotted the cut on Duane's leg. 

"No. The infection took almost three hours to appear in the blood, so there would be no way of knowing if Duane was infected until it was... Too late. Until after he'd turned."

Sam was growing visibly nervous, and when Mark returned with the rope he nudged Dean's shoulder. "I gotta talk to you. Come on."

He motioned to the door, and after a moment's thought Dean followed him, leaving Cheyenne and Mark to tie Duane up and keep him secure. The two brothers walked into a back office, closing the door behind them. "Dean, this is all starting to turn out like my vision."

"Yeah, I had a feeling." Dean grunted, sighing. Sam looked at him for a few seconds, a frown appearing on his face. 

"You can't kill him man. Not yet. I mean, we don't know if he's infected."

"Oh I think we're pretty damn sure, Sam." Dean snapped. "Guy shows up out of no-where? With a cut on his leg, and his whole family infected? I think we've got enough clues. I'm not waiting for him to Hulk out in there, risk having him hurt someone."

Sam knew that this was more about protecting Cheyenne than protecting the others, but when Dean made a move to go back into the room, Sam swung out an arm to stop him, shaking his head slowly. "Dean..."

"It's a tough job, Sammy." He shrugged aimlessly, shooting him a look that Sam knew meant 'what do you want me to do?' "But somebody's gotta do it."

"It's  _supposed_ to be tough, Dean. We're supposed to struggle with this." Sam urged, placing one hand on his older brother's chest to try and stop him. "That's how we do this. It buys us a clear conscious."

"A clear conscious, huh?" Dean mocked, shaking his head. "Yeah, well it's a little too late for that, Sam."

When Sam tried to stop him from leaving again, Dean grabbed his younger brother by the front of his shirt and pushed him aside so hard he hit a desk, before storming out of the room and locking it behind him. Sam rushed to the door to try and open it, banging on the glass. "Dean, open the damn door.  _Dean_."

After sparing him a single cold glance, Dean ignored him, and instead turned on his heel to walk back towards the examination room. Everyone looked up when he entered, and after seeing the look on his face and the gun in his hand, Duane began to struggle against the rope. "Woah, woah! It's not in me!"

"Dean..." Cheyenne said quietly. "What are you doing?"

"That's not him, not any more." Dean muttered, cocking his gun and pointing it at Duane, who started squirming in his seat, trying to wriggle free of his bonds. 

"It's not in me!" He screamed, struggling in his chair. "Cheyenne, you know me! It's not in me, I'm not sick! Don't let him kill me, please!"

"Dean, think about this for a second." She whispered shakily. The thought of having to watch another person die in front of her today made Cheyenne's stomach churn, so she turned to Dean imploringly. "We don't know if he's infected or not."

"Can't take that risk." He grunted, steadying himself as he pointed the gun at Duane's forehead. Something about him seemed different now though. Where he'd been confident and assured he now seemed uncertain, and as he held the gun Cheyenne could have sworn she saw his hand shake a little. 

After a few seconds that seemed to drag into minutes, Dean let out a heavy sigh and the gun dropped back to hang by his side. " _Dammit_."

Duane relaxed in his seat, breathing out a sigh of relief as Dean turned away from him. Beside her, Cheyenne felt Mark relax a little bit too at the realisation he wasn't going to have to watch someone shoot a kid he'd watched grow up. No-one spoke as Dean turned away and stormed out of the room, but after a second Cheyenne decided to follow him. Although she was glad he hadn't killed Duane, she was a little confused. "Dean, wait."

He paused in the hallway, and when he turned to look at her she could still see the anger from before in his eyes. He didn't walk off though, and Cheyenne took that as some form of encouragement as she approached him. "We need to talk."

After everything that had happened in that past few hours, Dean couldn't really argue with that, as much as he wanted to. Instead, after she let Sam out of the locked office and ushered him in he just followed her silently, leaning back against the desk as she closed the blinds to give them some privacy. 

"You're a hypocrite." She said quietly, still facing the blinds. 

It wasn't what he'd expected. He'd expected her to scream at him, call him a bastard, maybe even slap him. He figured it was the least he deserved, after throwing the comment about her father in her face the way he had. "Excuse me?"

"I get you're pissed that I went out when you told me to stay here." She began, turning to face him and walking towards him until they were only a foot apart. "I get that, I do. But are you seriously telling me that if the tables were turned, and if it was you in here and  _Sam_  out there, and John had told you to stay put... Are you seriously telling me you would have listened?"

"It's different." He whispered, shaking his head. "Cheyenne, I'm -"

"You're a trained Hunter." She interrupted, rolling her eyes. "I get it. I get that I'm this pathetic burden for you, that you need to take care of me because I can't take care of myself."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off again. "Don't interrupt me. I  _get_ that you feel like that, but it's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the fact that my family - the last scrap of my screwed up family, the  _only_  person who ever actually loved me - was out there. And I had a chance to try and save her. I couldn't just leave her out there alone, Dean. If I hadn't looked for her, I never would have been able to forgive myself. I figured  _you_ of all people would be able to understand that."

Dean exhaled shakily, frowning at her for a moment before lowering his gaze. He couldn't hold eye contact for more than a few seconds, so to make things easier for himself, Dean walked around her to the desk. For a moment he leaned against it, almost as if he was trying to steady himself. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet that she almost missed it. 

"That's not what this is about."

"Excuse me?"

Dean turned to look at her, resting his ass against the edge of the desk as he folded his arms over his chest, almost defensively. "It's not that I don't think you can handle yourself out there."

"Then what _is_ it about?"

He paused, eyes darting around the room as he searched for the right way to articulate his feelings. "I don't want you to have to handle yourself. Ever since you got hurt on that Hunt my Dad pushed you into I've been trying to keep you away from all of this. I mean, I broke up with you to try and keep you out of this life, and now you're..." He trailed off, gesturing around them as he struggled to speak, his voice strained. "I mean  _Jesus_ , Chey..."

For a second, Dean sounded almost choked up, and she crossed the room instinctively until they were only a few inches apart. He looked down at her for a few seconds, and Cheyenne saw genuine fear flicker across his features. 

"Do you have any idea how scared I was?" He whispered, finally meeting her gaze properly. Cheyenne felt a wave of guilt wash over her as she stared up into his dark green eyes, and cupped his cheeks gently, her thumbs gently running over the rough stubble.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly. "But I'm not sorry that I went out there."

"I know." He pursed his lips, and Cheyenne watched the dimples at the corners of his mouth appear. "I know you're not." 

After a few moments Dean leaned forwards so that his head came to rest against her chest, and his arms wrapped around her tightly. Cheyenne stepped closer so she was in between his legs, her hands coming to settle in his soft hair as he hugged her. 

"I just want out." He mumbled into her shirt. "I just want to get out of all of this. I'm so tired of all of this, Cheyenne..."

"I know, baby." She whispered, running her fingers through his hair. 

"We were so close..." His voice came out close to a groan as he raised his head slowly. When Dean met her gaze, Cheyenne realised that he suddenly looked exhausted. It was almost as though all of the stress that had been building up since John's death was oozing out of him, from his slumped shoulders to the bags under his eyes. 

"All you've got to do is find this Demon and kill it, right?" She whispered. "I mean, you've done it before, you can do it again. All you've got to do is -"

"I don't care." He said softly, shaking his head. "I don't care about the Demon. I don't care about revenge any more. I just  _want out_."

Cheyenne paused, confused. Two years ago, Dean had loved Hunting. When he'd talked about it, she could hear excitement bubble in his voice, could see the glint in his eyes. Hunting was more than just his job; it was his life, and it always had been. Now though, he looked... defeated, worn down. This was about more than wanting to get away with her. Whereas before it had been a fun, exciting idea for the two of them, Dean was using it as a lifeline now, clinging to it desperately like a man at sea. He was drowning in this life. 

"Dean, what did John say to you at the hospital?" She asked hesitantly. The idea had been playing at the back of her mind ever since the phone call with Sam nearly two weeks earlier, and right now, it seemed more plausible than ever that something had happened at the hospital to change Dean's outlook. 

She half expected him to push her away, deflect like he had done every other time she'd brought up his father. To her surprise, he let out a teary, shaky breath and ran a hand over his face. 

"He said that... I have to protect Sam. Above everything else, I have to protect him."

That seemed par for the course, given what she knew about their childhoods, but Cheyenne could sense something worse was coming. Familiar anxiety pooled in her stomach as Dean looked down at his lap and inhaled slowly, building himself up before he spoke again. When he met her gaze again, Cheyenne could see tears brimming in his green eyes, threatening to spill over his cheeks. 

"And if I can't save him, I have to kill him."


	34. Chapter 34

At first, Cheyenne thought she'd misheard him. John hadn't exactly been the most attentive father, but there was no way he'd put that weight on Dean's shoulders, right?

"Save him from what?" She whispered, even though she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. For a moment, Dean didn't respond. Instead, he just stared woodenly at the corner of the room, breathing heavily through his nose. It seemed like he was barely even in the room with her; he wasn't just lost in thought, he was trapped in it. Cheyenne reached up again to cup his cheek gently, stroking her thumb over his cheekbone once, twice and then a third time. "Dean?"

Finally, when he met her gaze again, he began to speak. He told her everything, about how they thought the Demon was connected to the psychic children, but that they weren't sure of exactly how. He told her about their assumption that the Demon had plans for the children like Sam, and that Dean was terrified his younger brother was going to turn into a monster. 

"I just... I don't know what to do." He whispered finally, staring down at his lap. "I can barely look Sam in the eye."

Cheyenne slid one comforting hand into his hair, and almost like a subconscious reaction, Dean leaned into her a little, the breath catching in his throat. His other arm wrapped around her waist from where he'd let it fall into his lap, and for a few moments, they just stood there in silence together while Cheyenne tried to figure out what to say to him. Eventually, she figured out what to say.

"You need to tell Sam. He knows something's going on with you, and it's scaring him." Almost as an afterthought, she added: "and it's starting to scare me too."

"I'm sorry." He looked up at her with those impossibly green eyes, and for a split second Cheyenne saw a flash of pure, naked vulnerability on his face. "For all of this." 

"I know you are." She whispered, pressing her lips to his gently. "I know."

"I just want out, Chey." His chapped lips grazed against hers as he spoke, bumping his nose against hers. "All I want is to get out, get away from all this shit."

"Then let's do it." 

Her voice wavered a little with nerves, but when Dean met her gaze, he could see how determined she was. He knew this was what she wanted more than anything, for him to be out of Hunting for good. And now was their chance. 

"Let's just cut and run." She whispered insistently. "As soon as we get out of here. You, me and Sam - we can just start driving, figure out the rest along the way." 

If Dean wasn't worried it would get everyone else killed, he'd get into the Impala with her and Sam there and then and just get the hell out of town. The temptation to just leave with her was overwhelming because it was all he'd dreamed about for months. He'd dreamed about taking an extended vacation with her, just getting lost out on the road for a while. He'd dreamed about waking up next to her every day, watching as she smiled up at him drowsily. He'd dreamed about all of the things he'd never thought he'd possibly have - a stable, happy life with the woman he loved. 

"I want that." Dean admitted finally, swallowing hard past the nerves. A small smile tugged at the corner of Cheyenne's mouth, and after a moment of silence, she kissed his forehead gently. 

"Let's just concentrate on getting out of here alive first." She said quietly, taking a step back to head for the door. Now that Dean had calmed down, they needed to concentrate on making explosives to try and get out. 

As she tried to walk towards the door though, Dean stopped her, his grip on her wrist tight as he pulled her back towards him. He wrapped his arms back around her, pulling her against his chest slowly, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head. 

"Not yet." He said quietly. For a moment, Cheyenne thought about pushing him to walk back out with the others, but when she thought about how safe and warm she felt when she was cocooned in Dean's arms, she realised she wasn't actually all that eager to go back outside. So when Dean pulled her against his chest, Cheyenne just curled up to him, grateful for the heat that radiated off his body in waves. Listening to his steady breathing was comforting, just as it always was. 

When they eventually emerged, Dean didn't say anything to Sam. Instead, he sat down at the table next to his brother, and began to organise the makeshift bombs in silence. Sam looked from his older brother to Cheyenne, cocking an eyebrow. She shot him what she hoped was a comforting smile before easing herself into the seat next to Dean's. The three of them worked together, managing to set up a non-verbal production line, quickly building up a large pile of explosives. By the time Dr. Lee walked into the room, they'd created nearly twenty bombs. 

"It's been nearly three hours." She said hesitantly. "There's no sign of infection, so I'd like to untie Duane, if it's okay with all of you."

Dean's shoulders stiffened under his shirt, and Cheyenne saw his brow crease, but he didn't answer. Instead, Sam offered her a nod of confirmation. "Sure, go ahead."

Dean forced the cap onto the newest explosive a little more forcefully than necessary, his lip curling a little as he tossed it carelessly into the pile beside him, reaching for the alcohol with a frown. "We're nearly out of this."

Sam offered to go get some more, and as he got up from the table, Cheyenne rested her hand gently on Dean's forearm without saying anything. He didn't speak, but she felt his tensed muscles relax just a little under her touch. She rubbed her thumb over the sleeve of his jacket a couple of times, hoping it was soothing. Out of the corner of her eye, as she turned to look at Dean properly, Cheyenne noticed the door to the dispensary close. 

"You okay?" She whispered to Dean. Without meeting her gaze, he nodded slowly. 

"Yep."

She recognised that quiet, clipped tone. It was the same tone she'd heard every time she'd asked about John, the tone he'd used to shut her down, dodge the topic. She knew it was going to be useless to try and talk to him about it. Instead, she tried a different tactic to get him to look at her properly. "I love you."

It worked. Dean's head jerked up reflexively, and he finally met her gaze. The corner of his lips quirked into the same half-smile it always did when he heard those words. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, they heard a crash and a yell from inside the dispensary. 

In a second, Dean was on his feet and trying to push the door open, only to find that it had been locked from the inside. Pulling his gun from the back of his jeans, Dean opened the door with one swift kick, so forceful that the door bounced off the wall. On the floor, in the middle of the dispensary was Sam, laying flat on his back with Pam, the doctor's assistant straddling him, screaming something. Without pausing to think, Dean shot her four times, and she slumped forwards over Sam and onto the concrete floor. Cheyenne and Mark joined Dean as he rushed into the room and towards his younger brother, who was still gasping in surprise. 

"Sammy?" Dean yelled, crouching down beside him and reaching for him. Before he could get there though, Mark swung out his arm to stop him. 

"Look." He hissed. "She bled on him."

Sure enough, when Cheyenne and Dean followed Mark's pointing finger, it was to see a thin red line of blood smeared across Sam's chest. From where she was stood above Sam, Cheyenne could see a similar cut on Pam's hand. 

Sam had been cut, which means he was infected. As Cheyenne met Dean's horrified gaze, she knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. If Sam was infected, he needed to be killed before he could turn and hurt anyone else.

Just like John had told Dean to do. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Doctor, check his wound again." Dean ordered, pacing the examination room. It had been two hours since Sam had been attacked, and although he wasn't showing any signs of infection yet, Cheyenne could feel the tension in the room. Mark hadn't taken his hand off his gun since they'd moved Sam from the dispensary, and Dr. Lee was clearly anxious whenever she had to get close to him. 

"Why does she need to check it?" Mark murmured from where he was stood in the corner of the room. He'd made sure to give Sam a wide berth since they'd pulled him off the infirmary floor. "We all saw it, he's been infected. We need to do something before he turns and kills the rest of us."

Dean stepped in front of him before he could even reach for his gun, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. "You go for my brother, you so much as touch your gun and you'll be dead before you hit the ground, _do I make myself clear_?"

His sharp tone forced Mark to a standstill, and from her position by the door Cheyenne saw everyone, even Sam, tense up as Dean spoke again, looking around at everyone with his eyes damn near predatory. "No-one is going to shoot my brother, alright?"

"You were going to shoot me!" Duane protested. It was a mistake; Dean rounded on him, inches from his face. 

"You'll shut your pie hole or I still might." He spat. Although Duane took a step back at that, Cheyenne noticed Mark hadn't taken his hand off the pistol at his side. 

"Well what the Hell are we supposed to do then?" He snapped. Dean didn't answer him immediately. Instead, he leaned against the table, brow furrowing as he thought. One hand dipped into his jacket pocket, fishing around for something. Finally, he turned back to the room, locking eyes with Cheyenne. 

Her throat closed up when she saw the look in his eyes. There was something about his expression, something that she couldn't quite place (was it regret?), that scared her. Silently, he crossed the room to her, taking his hand out of his pocket. Dean grabbed her wrist, pulling it towards him while he pressed his palm against hers. When he pulled back, Cheyenne could see the keys to the Impala in her hand. 

"You're the only one I trust her with." He said softly, offering her a small smile.

 _No_. 

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. She could see the determination in his eyes, and almost knew that it wasn't worth bothering to argue. That didn't mean she wasn't going to try. "No. We're not doing this."

"It's the only plan we've got."

"Well you're going to have to think of another one." She tried to push the keys back into his hand, but he pulled back. "I'm not leaving you, Dean."

He bit down on his lower lip for a moment, considering it for a second before glancing at Mark. "Get the explosives and the guns together."

He and Duane didn't need telling twice. They ran out of the room to gather the weapons, and while they did, Dean motioned for Cheyenne to follow him back into the office they'd talked in before. She walked behind him in silence, not trusting herself to be able to speak past the tears that threatened to spill over. 

Dean closed the door behind her gently, sighing heavily as he thought about what to say next. Finally, he crossed to the desk at the other side of the room and grabbed a scrap of paper, scribbling something on it before passing it to her. She took it with trembling hands, looking down to see an address to a scrapyard in South Dakota. 

"The guy that runs it is called Bobby Singer. Now, when you get out of here, you drive down to his, you tell him everything that happened. He'll take care of you."

She couldn't walk away from him. She couldn't leave him in here to die with Sam, and run off to safety on her own. She couldn't  _abandon_ him.

"No."

It came out as a strangled sob, and Cheyenne had to press one hand to her mouth to try and stop herself from breaking down there and then in front of him. Dean swallowed hard, pulling her against his chest and wrapping strong arms around her waist as she shook with tears. "I c-can't leave you."

"I can't let you stay." He whispered. "Chey, if you get hurt in here with me, I'd never forgive myself."

She wanted to tell him that there was no point in her leaving without him. In the past year, she'd lost everything. Her best friends were gone, the last shred of her family had died that afternoon, and she had nothing to go back to if she left here. He was the only thing she had left, and if he died in here, she wouldn't have a reason to carry on. 

Of course, there was no way she could explain all of that past the tears, so instead she just sobbed into his chest, gripping onto his shirt tightly as he held her close. He didn't want to let her go, he didn't want to push her out there into the darkness and uncertainty, but there was no way he could keep her in here with him, risk her getting hurt because of him. He couldn't let that happen. 

Eventually, Dean knew he couldn't put it off any longer, and so he pulled back a little, brushed the hair back from her face and wiped the tears from her cheeks before kissing her gently. Something twisted painfully in his gut to see her like this, especially seeing as he was the one to make her cry, but he had to. 

"You want to say goodbye to Sammy?" He whispered, cupping the back of her head. Cheyenne nodded tearfully, still not trusting her own voice. Dean kissed her forehead before leading her out of the office, coming to a stop in front of the door to the examination room. 

"I'm going to check they've got everything they need." Dean gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before walking away, leaving Cheyenne to go in alone. Sam was sat where they'd left him on the examination table, and apart from the bandage on his chest, nothing looked wrong with him. 

He offered her a weak smile when she walked in, stopping by the door. "Hey, Cheyenne."

She couldn't even respond. Instead, she threw herself at him, catching him off guard when she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "God, Sam... I'm so sorry..."

His hands settled gently on her back as he returned the hug. "I know you are... I know."

She pulled back a little to look at him. Into those warm, hazel eyes that were always so kind and inviting, at the almost guilty semi-smile that matched Dean's so perfectly. "I just wish there was something we could do."

"You sound like Dean." He smiled gently, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, and faded quickly. For a moment, they just stared at each other wordlessly, both feeling completely hopeless. Sam was the first to speak. "Cheyenne, do you still have my gun?"

It was still tucked into the back of her jeans where she'd put it when she left the clinic hours earlier, but as her fingertips ghosted over the grip she realised why he was asking. "Sam..."

"I can do it myself." He offered, his voice low. "Dean's going to try and stay with me while the rest of you go, and he's going to get himself killed. If you give me the gun I can..." 

He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. They heard Dean's footsteps, and when Cheyenne turned, she saw him appear in the doorway, his expression stony. For a second, she wondered if he'd heard what Sam had said. 

"The others are ready." He said quietly. "It's time to go."

Cheyenne felt her stomach tighten at the words, but she knew she couldn't put it off any longer. After giving Sam one final hug that didn't last nearly long enough, she turned and walked out with Dean, who led her to the door with the others. 

"I'll catch up to you at Bobby's-" He began, but Cheyenne cut him off with a teary laugh, shaking her head. She couldn't even bear to look him in the eyes, so instead she stared down at his worn combat boots. Somehow that was easier. 

"Dean, we already spent half of the day arguing with each other." She croaked past the thick lump of tears that swelled in her throat. "Please don't make the last words I hear you say a lie."

"It's not a lie." Two fingers under her chin forced Cheyenne to look up, into those impossibly green eyes that she'd fallen in love with, speckled with flecks of gold that caught the light. She could get lost staring into those eyes, she had done more times than she could count. When he spoke, Dean's voice was serious, and as she looked at him, Cheyenne could see the determination on his features. 

He wasn't lying to her, she realised with a start. Dean wasn't giving up in some suicidal last stand here in the clinic. He was doing his duty, just like John had told him to, and then he was going to come and find her. It wasn't how either of them had planned or hoped, but in the end, this was Dean's way out. And he was going to take it. 

"I love you." Dean whispered, kissing her one last time before taking a step back. He knew that if he stayed any longer he'd give into temptation and go with her, leaving Sam alone in the clinic. "Go, get the hell out of here."

Before she could respond, Dean had headed back into the examination room and locked the door behind him. She waited for a moment before turning Mark, Duane and Dr Lee, who were still waiting for her by the front door expectantly. They'd never say it out loud, but Cheyenne could feel the tension - they wanted to leave  _now_.

She dipped one hand into her jacket pocket and fished out the keys to Dean's beloved Impala, hefting them for a moment as she thought, glancing around at the other survivors. As she looked between them, Cheyenne realised there was no way in hell she could leave without Dean, whether he had some kind of plan to get out or not. She couldn't risk losing him again, not after the car crash. Besides that, she'd made a promise of her own to John. 

"Take the Impala." She tossed the keys to Mark, who caught them in surprise. "You'll be one gun down, but the explosives should help get you past the people on the bridge."

"You're not coming with us?" He asked in surprise. She shook her head adamantly. 

"No. Dean's going to need me." She said quietly, glancing back at the locked examination room door. "And I have to be here for him."

"Whatever." Duane grunted, pushing the front door open. "It's your funeral."

Dr Lee seemed a little more conflicted, but didn't really hesitate before following Duane. It was only Mark that stayed, keys still in hand. "This is crazy."

"Yeah." Cheyenne smiled sadly. "I know."

"Come with us, Cheyenne." He urged, but she shook her head again. 

"I can't leave him. I just can't, I'm sorry."

Mark looked between her and the door for a few moments, and for a second Cheyenne thought he was going to drop the explosives and keys, and stay with her instead. Common sense won out though, and eventually he apologised before following the others into the darkness. Cheyenne couldn't exactly blame him, she realised as the door swung shut behind him. The sensible choice was to get out while they still could and hide out at Bobby Singer's place. 

Of course, Cheyenne had never opted for the sensible choice. She'd decided to strike up a relationship with Dean, the mysterious drifter who seemed to reek of danger. She'd joined him and John on the first hunt in Wisconsin what seemed like a decade earlier. And now, she was going to lock the door on her best chance of escape, turn her back to the door, and wait for what was almost certainly going to be a slow and painful death. 

Man, Dean was going to be  _pissed_.

Cheyenne had turned back to the clinic to head into the examination room when she heard voices from outside. Instinctively, her hand went to her gun, but as she turned around and saw the three other survivors heading back in slowly, she realised they weren't in danger. "What is it?"

"Come take a look out here." Dr Lee beckoned her closer. "The other two are going to want to see this too."

Cheyenne yelled for the brothers, heading outside with Mark and the doctor. She was surprised by what she found, to say the least. Where she'd been expecting the streets to be littered with former townspeople, Cheyenne stepped out into a deserted street. Only a few hours earlier, the infected people had been slowly descending on the clinic, spreading through the town like the virus they carried. Now, there was nothing. No movement, no sounds. 

"Where the hell did everyone go?" She heard Dean wonder out loud. It was an apt question, Cheyenne realised as she looked up and down the street. 

Somehow, within only a few minutes the town had emptied, and with the exception of the bodies in the clinic, there was no sign anything had even happened. 

Just like Roanoke, Cheyenne realised with a shudder.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! If you're wondering why there seem to be fewer chapters than there used to be, it's because I've been doing some editing! I hated how short some of the early chapters were in comparison to the later chapters, so I've spent the afternoon editing. For example, chapters One and Two have now been merged into Chapter One, because they were both incredibly short, and it made sense for it to be one whole chapter instead of two separate ones. Don't be alarmed, no content is missing at all (as long as I've done my job properly!), but the Forty Three chapters I had earlier has now been condensed into Thirty Four. This shouldn't make much difference, but it makes it less messy for me when editing the story. If you'd prefer to read it in it's original format, Cinnamon Whiskey has also been posted on Quotev, and can be found at this link: https://www.quotev.com/story/11205332/Cinnamon-Whiskey-Dean-Winchester/1 Or alternatively, you can go to Quotev.com and type 'Cinnamon Whiskey' or 'Dean Winchester' into the search bar. 
> 
> Happy reading, I hope everyone is enjoying!

"You're sure you don't want to head to Sidewinder with us?" Mark asked for the fifth time as he loaded more supplies into the back of his pickup truck. Cheyenne shook her head with a small smile.

"No, I've got a few things to figure out before I leave." She glanced around the empty street, shivering against the early morning air. Nothing had changed since they'd attempted to leave earlier - the town was still deserted. 

It had been five hours since Pam had bled on Sam to try and infect him, and three hours since they'd tried to leave the clinic. Now the sun was just starting to rise, rays of light dancing through the early morning fog. If it wasn't for the carnage that had taken place only a few hours earlier, Cheyenne probably would have taken a photograph. Rivergrove really was a beautiful town. 

"Still might be worth heading into town." Mark urged. "Help us figure out what the hell we're going to tell the cops up there."

She laughed gently, sitting down on the front steps to the clinic and watching as he and Duane loaded up his truck. "I'm sure you'll think of something to say."

"Doubt it." He murmured, frowning. "I still don't know what the hell happened here, to tell you the truth."

"Well that makes two of us." She conceded. Although they knew it was some kind of demonic virus - likely the same one that had descended on the Roanoke colonists in the 1590's - and they knew that it had wiped through the town quickly before disappearing without a trace, Cheyenne was still left with a lot of questions. 

More than that, she'd lost almost everything now. She had no family, no friends, no home. This virus had stolen the last part of normality, the last little shred of goodness from her life. Thankfully, Sam and Dean were still alive, but Cheyenne didn't want to entertain the thought of what might have happened if they'd both died out here. Dr Lee had already confirmed that there were no signs of infection in Sam's blood five hours after contact with Pam, so it seemed as though they'd dodged a serious bullet. Even so, Cheyenne wasn't exactly at ease. Too much was left unanswered, too much seemed as though it had been left to chance. 

"Earth to Cheyenne." She heard Dean's voice, which  drew her out of her thoughts as he sat beside her on the steps to the clinic, two cups of instant coffee from the machine inside in his hands. He passed her one, which she accepted gratefully. "You okay?"

"Mmh." She murmured unconvincingly, staring across the street at one of the many abandoned cars. "Do your cases always end like this?"

"Frustratingly unfinished?" He answered, shaking his head as he took a sip of the cheap coffee. "No. I just have no idea what the  _fuck_  this was."

"I mean, why did this happen here, out in the middle of no-where?" She asked, gesturing around the silent street. "Why now? And I mean... Why was Sam immune?"

"You know what?" Dean took another sip of his coffee. "That's a damn good question." 

They sat there in silence for a moment, frustrated and exhausted - both physically and emotionally. It had been a long day, more than 24 hours since either of them had last slept, and it was starting to show, from the barely suppressed yawns to the dark circles under Cheyenne's eyes. 

"That's everything." They heard Mark say from over by his truck. "We're ready to head out."

Cheyenne stood up from where she was sat beside Dean, crossing the path to give Mark one last hug. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and he gave a low chuckle as he pulled back. "Listen, I still don't understand what all of this was, or who those friends of yours are... But you take care of yourself, okay? And if there's anything you need, call me, okay?"

"I will." Cheyenne assured him, smiling warmly. "Do me a favour and call me when you get to Sidewinder?"

He promised that he would, and after shooting Dean a silent nod of thanks, he got into the car with Duane, driving off into the early morning light. Cheyenne listened as the sound of the engine faded out before turning back to Dean, who was on his feet. 

"How're you holding up?" He asked quietly. She shrugged listlessly. 

"About as well as I can, I guess." Cheyenne exhaled slowly, watching her breath cloud in front of her face. She was exhausted, and every muscle in her body ached for a reason she wasn't entirely certain of. All she knew was, she couldn't wait to step into a scaldingly hot shower and get some sleep, even if she wasn't sure where.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cheyenne saw Sam walk out of the clinic with a box of supplies in his hands, which he dropped into the backseat of the Impala before going back inside for another box. She glanced back at Dean, searching his face for any indication of that same desperate vulnerability she'd seen the night before. "Did you talk to him?"

"Not really." He whispered. "I never told him about... What my Dad said." 

"You should talk to him." She reached up to brush a few stray strands of hair back from his forehead. "Just drive out to the middle of no-where, crack open a couple of beers, and talk to him."

"How do you think he'll react?" If Cheyenne didn't know any better, she would have said Dean sounded almost scared by the prospect of having this conversation with Sam. 

"I don't know." She admitted quietly as his younger brother came back out, shooting them a small smile as he put the second box into the backseat and shut the door of the Impala. 

"That's the last of it." He called to Dean. "We should probably hit the road before the doctor calls the cops."

Dean grunted a response before heading back into the clinic to grab some more of the surprisingly good coffee from the machine, leaving Sam and Cheyenne alone on the sidewalk. 

"So," Sam leaned against the Impala, smiling softly at her, "What are your plans? Are you following us, or heading back to Wisconsin?"

Cheyenne clicked her tongue, looking from Sam to her Ford Pickup, which she and Dean had gone to retrieve from in front of her house when they'd deemed it safe to leave. It was tempting to follow the boys out on the road, but after everything that had happened in the past few hours, and the conversation she knew was approaching, Cheyenne thought it best to give the boys a little space, just for the time being. The thought of going back to Wisconsin and putting on her waitressing apron again didn't appeal to her either though, so instead she was going to take Dean's advice from earlier and head to Sioux Falls. 

"Dean gave me Bobby Singer's address. Figure I'll drive up there for a few days until I can work out my next move."

"Don't like the idea of going back to the diner after all of this?" Sam chuckled. 

"Not really." She admitted, offering him a wry smile. "Not sure I'd be able to struggle through the boredom any more." 

"I know that feeling." His voice was gentle, and when he met her gaze, he shot her a knowing smile. In those few brief seconds, they both knew exactly what the other was thinking. As nice and safe as normal life was, after just a taste of Hunting, you could never go back, not really. 

Cheyenne didn't think she'd be heading back to Wisconsin any time soon. 

They didn't get the chance to continue the conversation any further though, because Dean had come back outside with two fresh cups of coffee, one of which went to Sam. The doctor had followed him out, and was standing at the top of the steps, watching them with a small smile on her face. 

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Cheyenne asked. "I can drop you off somewhere if you'd like."

"Someone needs to stay and contact the authorities. If they'll believe me." 

"Yeah uh..." Dean chuckled, looking between her and Sam. "We should probably get out of town before the authorities show up, if you know what I mean."

She cocked an eyebrow at that, but didn't press the issue. Instead, she just waved goodbye one last time before heading back inside, leaving them stood together in the cold. Dean walked Cheyenne across the street to where they'd parked her pickup truck. "You're going to be okay getting to Bobby's place?"

"I'll be fine." She assured him with a small smile. "You guys need some time to talk. Tell him the truth, it's what he deserves"

Dean nodded uncertainly, glancing back at Sam who was still waiting by the Impala. Cheyenne could sense his trepidation, so she balanced her coffee cup on the roof of the truck and pulled him closer by the front of his shirt, grinning as his arms wrapped around her waist. 

"Speaking of telling the truth..." Dean murmured, looking down at her as he pushed her gently up against the door of her truck. "You never left the clinic, did you?"

Even if she'd wanted to lie to him, Cheyenne's stunned expression betrayed her instantly. How could he have known?

Seeing the look on her face, Dean chuckled gently, shaking his head. Surprisingly, he didn't look mad, like she'd expected. "I gave you the keys to the Impala, but when we went outside after everyone vanished, the Sarge was holding them. Figured the only reason  _you_  wouldn't be the one to drive Baby is if you'd decided to stay."

Cheyenne couldn't come up with a decent response to disobeying him for the second time that day, only offering a sheepish 'oops?' in response. Dean smiled gently in response. 

"You know..." He began, brushing her hair out of her face tenderly. "If the tables were turned... And it was Dad in there with Sam, and he'd told me to leave... There's no way in hell I would have gone with the others."

Cheyenne could have sworn she heard a hint of pride in Dean's voice when he spoke, thought for a moment that he actually approved of her decision, but she couldn't question him any further. Instead, Dean leaned down and kissed her slowly, pushing her against the car a little more as he cupped both of her cheeks in his warm hands, savouring every second before he had to pull back. "This doesn't mean I want you out there Hunting, though."

"I know." She whispered. Dean hadn't pulled back very far at all, just enough so that he could speak, and as they talked, she felt her nose bump gently against the tip of his. "But I think we both knew it was always going to end up like this."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it." He sighed gently, the rough pads of his thumbs grazing her cheekbones as he met her gaze. After a moment, Dean leaned in for another kiss, this one slower than the first, almost as if he was afraid she'd crumble under his touch. 

Reluctantly, they pulled apart, and when his hands left her skin Cheyenne couldn't help but shiver against the chilly air. Neither of them wanted to say goodbye, especially now that it seemed like the prospect of him getting out of Hunting was fading into the background again. 

"I love you so much." He said quietly, his voice close to a groan. She smiled gently at that, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to pull him back in for another quick kiss. 

"I love you too, Dean."

With that, he couldn't put off getting into the Impala with Sam any longer, and so he turned and walked away from her slowly, heading back to his brother who was waiting patiently in the front seat. After one more wave goodbye, and once she'd retrieved her cup of coffee, Cheyenne got into her truck, kicking the car into gear before heading for South Dakota. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The drive took her just under a day, and by the time Cheyenne pulled into the salvage yard, she'd gone nearly forty-eight hours without sleep, except for the couple of power naps she'd had to take on the side of the road, or in the parking lot of a McDonalds. 

The Singer Salvage yard wasn't particularly difficult to find, even if it was on the outskirts of town. Cheyenne quickly found the house tucked into the corner of the salvage yard, and parked up, staring at it for a few minutes before getting out and approaching slowly, a little wary. Gravel crunched underfoot as Cheyenne made her way towards the house, but when she got close, the door swung open quickly, taking her by surprise. 

A beardy middle-aged man stood in the doorway, eyeing her suspiciously. "Morning."

"Are you Bobby Singer?" She asked hesitantly. "Dean Winchester gave me your address. My name's Cheyenne Foster, I'm-"

"Cheyenne, huh?" He looked her up and down slowly, still a little suspicious. "Dean told me about you."

"He did?" Cheyenne couldn't help but smile a little at that. 

"The girl from Wisconsin, right?" Bobby waved her forwards, inviting her towards the house. Cheyenne took the invitation, taking the steps slowly and following him inside. 

The house looked more like the old musty library on her campus than a home, but when Bobby offered her a chair and a beer, Cheyenne accepted both gratefully, sinking into the faded couch with a low groan while the older man brought her an ice-cold beer from his fridge. As she took the first sip, Cheyenne couldn't help but notice Bobby was watching her closely, but as soon as she'd swallowed and gone back for another sip, he seemed to relax a little, dropping into the armchair across from her. 

"So." He said quietly. "You want to tell me what happened?"

She explained everything, from Sam's vision to when she left town in painstaking detail. Once or twice she asked if Bobby wanted the abridged version, but he only shook his head, asking for every detail she could remember from the past day, no matter how small it seemed. She told him about the Tanner family, about the Sulphur found in Beverly's blood, about Sam's inexplicable immunity. Bobby only interrupted her once, to get her a second beer which she took without hesitation, thankful for something to drink after her long journey.

After she'd explained everything, Bobby only nodded slowly, sitting in silence while he absorbed it. Finally, he put his empty bottle of beer on the table between them, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forwards, meeting her gaze. "So what's your plan?"

She had no idea. All she wanted was a shower and the chance to sleep, but she figure she'd look like an asshole if she just showed up on his doorstep and demanded room and demanded room and board. The ache in her muscles was too much to ignore now though, and Cheyenne couldn't really face the thought of getting back into her truck and trying to find a motel. "Dean... said that you'd be able to give me a room for a night or two? Just until I figure out what to do next."

"Did he now?" Bobby cocked an eyebrow at her, pursing his lips. For a moment, Cheyenne thought that she'd overstepped her bounds, and that he was going to ask her to leave, but after thinking about it, Bobby just chuckled. 

"Before that happens, you're going to need a shower."

Cheyenne cracked a relieved smile at that, feeling herself relax a little. After helping him clear the beer bottles from the table, she grabbed the duffel bag of clothes she'd packed hastily. Bobby directed her to the upstairs bathroom, providing fresh towels from the surprisingly neatly packed linen closet and offering to fix her something to eat for when she got out. 

She thanked him before closing and locking the bathroom door behind him, turning to look at herself properly for the first time in two days. Her hair was a mess from her habit of raking her hands through it while she drove, and after two days of not removing her makeup, she'd been left with panda eyes that were only exemplified by her exhaustion. 

Thankfully, Bobby had a tub, so after stripping off and washing her hair, Cheyenne ran herself a steaming bath and sank into it slowly. The water stung against tiny little cuts over her hands and arms that she had no idea were even there, but when her head came to rest against the edge of the bath, she let out a contented sigh. The past forty-eight hours felt like a year, and as Cheyenne felt the water rush over her, she finally relaxed. 

As she lay there in the tub, Cheyenne began to drag the wash cloth across her skin with long, languid movements. She started with her legs, stretching them up and out of the water one by one to wash them before dipping them back into the tub and moving onto her arms. Slow, lazy circular movements up to her shoulder with the washcloth sent water rolling down her arms and chest, and after dragging the soapy cloth around the back of her neck Cheyenne dropped it into the water, sinking back against the tub. She decided to close her eyes, just for a moment. She'd earned that after the week she'd struggled through, and after sitting in her truck for a whole day. Just a few moments of peace...

When Cheyenne next opened her eyes, it was to Bobby calling her name through the door. She woke with a start, jostling the now-lukewarm water as she sat up quickly. 

"You haven't drowned in there, have you?" Bobby called gruffly through the door. 

"No!" She called, getting up and grabbing a towel quickly, wrapping it around herself before she opened the door a crack to look at him. Even though she could hardly see him through the inch of space she'd given herself to look through, Cheyenne could have sworn she saw a smile. "I uh... Dozed off in the tub."

"Thought you might've. I made you a sandwich, put it in the spare room for you when you're ready. I figured you'll need some rest after the past couple of days."

"Thanks Bobby." She shot him a small smile, and after he walked back downstairs, Cheyenne closed the door and dried off before changing into some fresh clothes from her duffel bag. She drained the bath, hung her towel on the drying rack, and walked into the spare room. 

Cheyenne sank onto the bed with a low groan, her aching muscles straining in protest as she propped herself up against the headboard instead of laying down properly. Bobby had placed a grilled cheese on the nightstand, and although it was one of the most simple things he could have made, right then it was possibly the most delicious sandwich Cheyenne had ever eaten, and she audibly groaned when she first bit into it. 

While she made her way through the sandwich, Cheyenne checked for any missed calls or texts. She and Dean had spoken a few hours after they'd left Rivergrove, and they'd exchanged a few texts to let each other know they were okay, but other than that they hadn't had much contact. When she flipped her phone open to check for any missed texts she had one from Dean, sent thirty minutes earlier. 

_Going to talk to Sam about dad._

Her thumb hovered over the green call icon, but after debating about it for a few seconds, Cheyenne thought better of it. She wasn't exactly in the best frame of mind to be talking to Dean about this right now, given how exhausted she was. Resigning herself to calling him when she woke up later, Cheyenne put the plate and phone back on the nightstand and eased herself into bed properly. 

She was asleep within minutes of her eyes closing. 

 


	36. Chapter 36

When Cheyenne woke up, early morning sunlight was pouring through the gap in the curtains. Still a little groggy from sleep, she blindly reached for her phone, flipping it open to see three missed calls from Dean and six texts. She could also see the time. It was 6:51 in the morning. Shit _._ That meant she'd slept for sixteen hours, which when Cheyenne thought about it, probably constituted as a mini coma rather than a restful night's sleep.

The first text from Dean came about an hour after she'd fallen asleep.  _We talked._

Then another, shortly afterwards to elaborate.  _Told him everything. It messed him up & he wants some time._

Another text, an hour later.  _Can't get hold of him, don't know what he's going to do._

From there, Dean's attention turned from Sam to her, obviously concerned at her lack of response. 

_You did get to Bobby's right?_

_Answer your phone!!!_

_Seriously not funny. I haven't heard from you in hours. Text me._

And then one final text, twenty minutes later.  _Bobby says you snore worse than I do._

Cheyenne felt a pang of guilt at the messages, especially given the conversation with Sam had gone less than smoothly. If she hadn't been so exhausted, she would have called him before she fell asleep, but she'd needed to crash so desperately that talking to him had been one of the last things on her sleep deprived mind. 

She called him, but although his phone it went through to voicemail.  _"This is Dean Winchester. Leave your name, number and nightmare at the tone."_

"Hey, it's me." She began, walking out into the hallway before going down into Bobby's kitchen. "I'm sorry I didn't answer any of your calls, I just... Really needed to crash, I was running on fumes. I'm sorry things didn't go well with Sam, but I'm sure he'll come back when he's ready. He probably just needs time to process everything that's happened."

She leaned on the kitchen table, gnawing on her lower lip as she thought about what to say next. "Call me when you get this, okay? I love you." 

After hanging up the phone, Cheyenne looked around the messy kitchen. Somewhere between the books, pots, piles of washing up and what Cheyenne was convinced was a machete, she assumed Bobby had a coffee pot. After finding it stuffed into the corner of the room and starting to brew a pot, Cheyenne started to look around properly where she hadn't had the energy the day before. The house was well loved, that much was obvious. Books were piled everywhere, most of them on lore or mythology, but a few that she recognised from her Philosophy course. As she wandered through the kitchen and into the living room, Cheyenne saw more books, some on the various shelves but others piled high in the corners, littering the faded carpet like a treasure trove. 

She'd always been an avid reader (which was lucky, her degree had required a lot of it), and she'd been more than happy to spend the past four years of her life with her nose buried in textbooks or holed up in the dark corners of the library. As Cheyenne walked through the living room, examining the bookshelves, her fingers itched to take one out and pore through it, but she felt like she'd imposed on Bobby enough without picking her way through books that, for all she knew, could be priceless. 

That didn't stop her from picking up a tattered copy of  _Of Mice and Men_  that was tucked into the corner of the far bookcase and leafing through it, inhaling slowly. There were two things that she loved the smell of - old books and freshly brewed coffee. 

Speaking of which, her coffee was ready in the kitchen. Cheyenne walked back into the room, leaving the book on the kitchen table as she poured herself a mug of coffee, taking one small sip and savouring the taste. It felt like years since she'd had a decent cup of coffee, after the cups of instant crap that came from the machines in the gas stations along the road. 

Grabbing the book from the table, Cheyenne decided to take her coffee back up to the spare room where she could get dressed and try to figure out her next move. She could go back to Wisconsin, but that idea didn't appeal to her very much - like she'd said to Sam, after everything that had happened to her, going back to serving coffee to surly old men seemed mind-numbingly boring. 

She couldn't go back to Rivergrove even if she wanted to. The population had dropped from 358 to four in less than a day, and going back would be like stepping into a ghost town. It had been eerie enough when she and Dean had gone to retrieve her car and grab her some clothes, she didn't need another reminder of how awful it was there. Besides, even if none of that were true, and Rivergrove was worth going back to, she wouldn't. Too many bad memories. 

Cheyenne had gotten changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and was halfway through her coffee when she heard the familiar growl of an engine outside. Cheyenne got up from the bed and peeked out of the window to check, and sure enough she saw the Impala parked next to her pickup. Dean was headed for the house, and after a knock and a few seconds of silence, she heard him come inside. 

Dropping the copy of  _Of Mice and Men_ back on the bed, Cheyenne walked downstairs quietly, pausing when she heard Bobby and Dean's voices in the front room. "This ain't a damn half-way house, you know."

"I know, Bobby." She heard Dean say calmly. "But she's got no-where to go right now. She just needs a couple of days to get back on her feet, and then we can figure out what to do. It's not like I can take her with me on the road."

"Ain't she got family?" 

"Dead."

"All of 'em?"

"Her Nana died in Oregon with the rest of them." Cheyenne heard Dean sigh. 

When Bobby spoke again, his voice was a little softer. "What's she gonna do?"

"I don't know." Dean admitted. "I've spent the past two and a half years trying to keep her away from all of this, but it's just... Getting harder to do that now. I don't  _want_ her Hunting, but it just feels like I'm fighting a losing battle here."

"She can stay." Bobby murmured finally. "Kid makes a damn good cup of coffee, for one thing. And it'll be nice to have someone around who knows how much of a pain in the ass you and your brother are."

Cheyenne figured that was as good a point as any to make her entrance, so she walked downstairs and into the living room, shooting them a smile. "Morning."

Dean's face lit up into a relieved smile when he saw her, crossing the room to sweep her up into a tight hug, which she sank into gratefully. Even though it had only been a couple of days since they'd seen each other, she'd missed having him close. 

"Sorry I didn't answer the phone." She said meekly as he placed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I just... passed out."

"Bobby told me you fell asleep in the tub too." Dean smiled gently. "I get it, it's okay."

"You figured out a plan yet?" Bobby asked, from where he was leaning against the table across the living room. Cheyenne looked between him and Dean, smiling nervously and shaking her head in response. She didn't exactly want to get into the specifics with Bobby, but staying with him seemed like the best option for the time being, so that was what she told him. 

"If that's okay with you, of course." She added quickly, shooting him a shy smile. After considering it for a few seconds, and looking between her and Dean, Bobby eventually gave a small nod. 

"You can... Help me around here, behind the scenes. Research, answering the phones. Keeping the wheels turning for idjits like him." 

Dean could already see Cheyenne eyeing up the bookcase behind Bobby, and couldn't but chuckle. He knew she loved to read, especially if it was something she could get completely lost in - hell, they'd met in a library, so it was never surprising for him when he showed up at her apartment some nights to find she'd fallen asleep reading. "Somehow I don't think that'll be an issue."

"Are all of your books about Hunting?" With Bobby's implied permission given, Cheyenne had already drifted out of Dean's grasp and headed for the bookcase with some of Bobby's older collections. The older Hunter tracked her with his eyes, an amused smile playing on his lips. 

"Not all of 'em, but most are." He watched as Cheyenne peered at the titles, her fingertips dancing over the cracked spines of the books until she found a title that caught her interest, sliding it off the shelf and opening it gingerly. Bobby looked on appreciatively; it was nice to see someone treat his priceless books with a bit of respect, unlike Dean who snatched them off the shelves and tossed them around without a care in the world. 

"How old are these books?" She murmured, more to herself than to the other two, leaving through some of the pages carefully. 

"Well they ain't exactly the kind of books you'd find at a Barnes 'n Noble, that's for damn sure." Bobby chuckled, finishing his cup of coffee before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Dean and Cheyenne alone. With a gentle smile on his lips, Dean walked over to her. 

"Think you're gonna like it here?" He asked quietly. Cheyenne was barely paying attention to him, scanning through the pages of the book quickly. When she flicked the page over to reveal one of the illustrations, Dean realised it was about Lycanthropy. 

"Werewolves..." She murmured under her breath, tracing the sketch lightly with her index finger. "Cool."

"Less cool when they're in your face." He pointed out. Cheyenne looked up sharply at that, scanning his face to try and read his expression. 

"You've... Killed a Werewolf?" She asked hesitantly. Dean nodded, smiling grimly. 

"Hunted one when I was a teenager with my Dad. I was thirteen or fourteen, I think."

Cheyenne paused for a second, biting her lip as she studied his face. She knew that John had taken the boys on the road with him when he Hunted - Dean had told her about the revolving door of new schools and casual friends that had made regular appearances in his childhood. For some reason though, Cheyenne had never stopped to consider the possibility that he had actually joined John on those jobs as a teenager. It was hard to imagine Dean, fresh faced and barely into puberty, clinging onto a shotgun that must've been almost comically large in his hands as he Hunted with his father. 

"You didn't get a childhood, did you?" She asked quietly, closing the book and sliding it back onto the shelf. Dean offered a non-committal shrug in response, looking relatively unfazed. 

"Hunting was all I really knew. Didn't have much to compare it to, except for a couple of hazy memories of my mom." Dean stopped himself, thinking for a second. "I've never really told you about her, have I?"

"You told me about the fire, the one in Sam's nursery when he was just a baby." Cheyenne said quietly, refraining from using the words  _the fire that killed her._ "But... You never told me about what she was like."

"You'd have liked her." He said quietly, his lips twitching into what could have become a proper smile, but his eyes clouded with sadness as he stared into middle distance. It was the same look Cheyenne had seen nearly two years earlier, the night Dean had first told her about Sam's argument with John. "And she... She would've loved you." 

When he finally met her gaze he was smiling still, but his eyes were just a little too bright, shining like they were welling with tears that threatened to spill over. Before she could reach out and comfort him though, Dean blinked, and the vulnerability was gone. That faint, melancholy smile was replaced with his normal one, and his eyes creased in the corners until lines appeared. 

"Anyway." He cleared his throat. "I came down to make sure you were okay, but I can't stay. I've got to look for Sam, make sure he hasn't gotten himself into more trouble than he can handle."

"Do you think he's going to be alright?" Cheyenne asked quietly. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty about pushing Dean to talk to Sam about John's last words, especially given his reaction. The thought of him running off into the unknown and winding up getting himself hurt was more than she could bear, especially given how close they'd come to losing him back in Rivergrove. 

"He'll be fine." Dean assured her, offering a comforting smile. "Just need to go pick him up from wherever he's run off to, dust him off, kiss and make up." 

Cheyenne shot him a reproachful look, folding her arms over his chest. "I doubt it'll be that simple. You just told him your dad ordered you to kill him if he got too dangerous."

"Sammy's tough." Dean chuckled, shrugging as he kissed her on the forehead. "He'll be fine." 

Cheyenne sensed his bravado was put on more for her benefit than anything, but she decided pushing the issue wasn't going to get her anywhere, so instead she just kissed him properly, told him to call her when he found Sam, and watched as he walked back to the Impala and drove off, disappearing into the salvage yard. The familiar rumble of the Chevy's engine faded a few seconds after the car vanished out of sight, and then Dean was gone, almost as quickly as he'd shown up. 

"So." Cheyenne turned away from the window at the sound of Bobby's voice. "You want me to show you the ropes?"

She knew worrying about Sam wasn't going to help anyone, so instead of throwing herself into the armchair by the window and waiting for the Winchesters to return like she  _wanted_ , Cheyenne accepted Bobby's offer. At least if she distracted herself here she might be of use to someone. 

For a man who seemed to be the physical embodiment of Gruff Loner Drunk, Bobby was a surprisingly patient teacher. He showed Cheyenne the phone system in the kitchen - five landlines secured to the wall, each with the label of a Federal Agency taped to it, with a name taped to the bottom. 

"How illegal is this?" She asked hesitantly, peering at the phones before shooting Bobby an uncertain glance. From across the kitchen where he was brewing them a fresh pot of coffee, he shrugged nonchalantly. 

"Only illegal if you get caught."

She was aware that Hunters tended to have liberal definitions of 'legal' and 'illegal', and that for the most part, they tended to live on the very fringes of civilised society for a variety of reasons, but she'd never been up close and personal with evidence of a felony. After all, impersonating a Federal Agent could earn you three years in prison, so Cheyenne didn't want to think about how illegal pretending to be a senior Agent was. 

"Okay..." She murmured uncertainly, stepping back to look at the phone system from afar. She already knew that the boys had posed as FBI agents when they'd joined her in Wisconsin, and they'd flashed US Marshall badges in Oregon but she had no idea that they also impersonated CDC officials, among other things. "So let me guess - the boys flash their ID badges, some guy doesn't believe them, so then they provide a fake business card with... Agent Willis on it. The guy calls  _you_ , tells you that he's got two of your agents with him..."

"And I verify whatever story they've come up with." Bobby finished for her, nodding slowly. "Pretty good system, if I say so myself."

"Just so long as you don't get caught." Cheyenne teased gently, accepting the coffee that he passed her with a grateful smile. "So what do you need me for?"

"Well, between researching cases, histories and entities, and manning those phones for about a dozen or so Hunters," Bobby motioned to the phone rack beside her, "I've got my work cut out for me. It'd be nice to have a second set of hands to help on either front."

The idea of disappearing into Bobby's library of the supernatural appealed to Cheyenne more than answering phones and lying to the cops about Sam and Dean's fake identities, but before she had the time to answer him, one of the phones began to ring insistently, making the choice for her. 

"Aren't you going to answer it?" She asked Bobby, but instead he folded his arms, leaning back against the kitchen bench and watching her carefully, a small smile on his lips. 

"I ain't proving room and board for free here." He pointed out. "It's the FBI phone, Agent Willis' office. Go ahead, answer it. If you slip up, I'll take over."

A wave of anxiety swept over Cheyenne in an instant at the thought of both impersonating a member of the FBI and lying about the identity of a Hunter. Bobby must have seen the look of panic on her face, because he urged her on gently. "Go ahead."

Cheyenne picked the phone marked FBI up and brought the receiver to her ear hesitantly. "Agent Willis' office, how can I help you?"

"Good morning ma'am," A man on the other end of the line spoke calmly, "My names Deputy Sheriff Wesson, I'm with the Kentucky police department, and I have an Agent Vandross here with me. I was wondering if I could speak to Special Agent Willis about him?"

Cheyenne looked at Bobby for a nod of support before speaking. "Agent Willis is unavailable right now, is there something I can help you with instead?"

The man on the other end of the line clicked his tongue a couple of times. "Could you confirm whether or not Agent Vandross is supposed to be out here in Kentucky on the Marsden case?"

"Agent Vandross?" Cheyenne echoed, looking over at Bobby for confirmation. After one short, affirming nod which she took to mean 'Agent Vandross' was really a Hunter on a case, Cheyenne spoke into the receiver. "Yes, Deputy Sheriff, I can confirm Agent Vandross' posting in Kentucky. It's been marked as a priority case on his file by Special Agent Willis."

"Oh..." The Deputy sounded surprised at that. "Right. Uh... I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am. Thank you for your time."

"Not a problem, Deputy." She hung up the phone before looking over at Bobby nervously, searching his face for any indication of how she'd done based on his expression. For a few seconds he didn't move, and Cheyenne felt her heart speed up. Had she screwed up? Badly?

Finally, a genuine smile broke out across Bobby's features, threatening to turn into a grin. "Kid, you're a natural."


	37. Chapter 37

Under Bobby's supervision, Cheyenne answered every other that came through for the rest of the day. The more she lied to the authorities, the easier it became, she realised. After the fourth phone call, the words 'good afternoon, Agent Willis' office, how can I help you?' came as easily as if she was saying her own name. 

She'd answered her fifth phone call, and was examining a book on hexes when Bobby dropped a heavy, tattered notebook on the table in front of her, making her jump in surprise. "What's that?"

"My journal." Bobby sat down opposite her before sliding the journal across the table until it was within her grasp. She picked it up gingerly, as if she was afraid it would crumble under her touch, before leafing through it. It was filled with detailed accounts of Hunts, theories about supernatural beings, demons, several variations of exorcisms.

"Does every Hunter have one of these?" She asked, glancing up at him. She'd seen Sam and Dean leafing through a similar journal of their own, the one John had written during his time as a Hunter. 

"The ones that want to stay alive do." He said pointedly. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Cheyenne flicked through Bobby's journal, scanning the pages for snippets of information while he watched her, an amused smile playing on his lips. It wasn't often that Bobby interacted with someone who wasn't a Hunter, and seeing Cheyenne carefully stepping across the boundary into the world of the supernatural was almost entertaining. 

She was a lot like Sam, he realised - hungry to learn. It didn't matter if she was watching him move around the room, or scanning the bookshelves, or flipping through his journal. Her eyes were always open, attentive and alert, looking for something new to pick up on, a new piece of information to absorb. From what Dean had told him about her though, she was just about as stubborn and headstrong as the older Winchester brother too. When Dean had called him the night before to ask after her (only to find she'd passed out in the spare room without a care in the world), he'd explained to Bobby that if Cheyenne were to stay at his place, he'd need to keep an eye on her. He'd told Bobby about her excursion into town after Dean had told her under no uncertain terms to stay put, something the older man wasn't entirely surprised about. 

"Guess your stupidity is contagious then." He'd grunted, before assuring Dean that Cheyenne would be safe with him. 

She seemed (for now at least) to be content in just staying put and reading. Bobby assumed that she wanted to learn as much as possible about what Sam and Dean were fighting, and wondered briefly how much she already knew. 

"Do you think I should make one?" She asked without looking up from the journal. 

"Be a useful tool to have." He said quietly, getting up from the table to brew another cup of coffee. When he came back, she was checking her phone, her brows furrowed in concern. 

"I'm sure the boys are fine." He assured her, setting down the mugs. He assumed that was what she was concerned about - Sam and Dean's whereabouts and wellbeing.

"It's not that." Cheyenne sighed, biting her lip in frustration as she looked up at Bobby. "You remember the guy I told you about from Rivergrove? Mark Vargo?"

At his nod, she continued. "I told him to call me when he got to Sidewinder. It was only forty miles, they should have done it in less than an hour. He never called me though."

"Think his cellphone died?"

Cheyenne shook her head. "I called him a couple of times on my drive over here. At first his phone just rang, but I tried again just now and it went straight through to voicemail."

"So what do you think happened?" Bobby asked slowly. Given the fact that none of them had any idea of what had happened in Rivergrove, he didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Cheyenne was already on her feet though. 

"I don't know." She said quietly. "But I'm going to drive back down there. Go to Sidewinder, see if I can find them there, and if not I'll head back to Rivergrove, see if-"

There it was. Like an internal switch had been flipped, Cheyenne had gone from a cautious student to the stubborn woman Dean had warned him about in a matter of seconds. Bobby was on his feet too, shaking his head. "Like hell you are."

She opened her mouth to protest, an indignant scowl on her face, but Bobby interrupted her. "I told Dean I'd keep you safe. Part of that involves you  _not_  runnin' into the wilderness at the drop of a hat. He's already out there looking for his brother, how do you think he's gonna feel about you disappearing up in Oregon as soon as his back is turned, hm?"

Cheyenne didn't have a good response to that, but Bobby knew it was no good. He could see the look on her face, knew it well from seeing it plastered on the face of almost every Hunter he'd ever met when they first started out. It was somewhere between desperation and fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of losing another person. Bobby knew that as soon as he turned to go back into the kitchen, he'd hear the front door slam and the engine of her Ford kick up. 

"Fine." He said quietly, sighing. "But you ain't going back there alone."

Cheyenne's eyes widened in surprise. "You'll come with me? Really?"

"Well if I don't, you'll just run off on your own and get yourself killed." He grumbled, snatching his journal up from the table. He knew it would be fairly useless - they still had no idea what this virus was, but he felt a little more comfortable with the book in his hands. "Go get your stuff together. We'll take my car."

After whispering a quick 'thank you' Cheyenne ran past him and up the stairs to grab some clothes for the trip, while Bobby glared at his reflection in the dusty mirror across the room. His reflection glared straight back from underneath his peaked cap. 

"This is a  _stupid_  idea." He murmured to himself. When Dean found out, he was going to be  _pissed_. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they got on the road to Sidewinder it was dark, and they were both exhausted. Dean had called them a few hours earlier to let them know that he'd found Sam, and that they were headed out of Indiana. Cheyenne hadn't been able to lie to him when he'd asked how she was doing, and she'd told him that she and Bobby were headed back to Oregon. He'd asked her to pass the phone to Bobby, but when he spoke to the older Hunter, Cheyenne couldn't make out what she was saying. She could take a wild guess though. Dean wasn't happy with either of them, something he'd be sure to spell out for them when they got back to South Dakota. 

The road to Sidewinder was pitch black, so dark that Cheyenne almost missed the car when they drove past it. As Bobby's headlights bounced over the road though, they caught the metal door of a vehicle that had pulled over the the side of the road, so far over that it was almost in the ditch that ran parallel to the road. 

"Bobby, pull over." She said quickly, tapping his shoulder and pointing to the car in the darkness. Bobby did as she asked, pulling up just behind the truck and looking over at Cheyenne. 

"Recognise it?"

She nodded slowly, a line appearing between her eyes as she frowned. It was the truck she'd watched Duane and Mark drive off in two days earlier. She didn't want to think about why it was abandoned on the side of the road, still twenty miles outside of Sidewinder. 

"If I tell you to stay in the car, what are the chances you'll actually listen to me?" Bobby asked. 

"Slim to none."

"Figured." He grunted, throwing open the driver's side door and clambering out of his Chevelle, with Cheyenne following close behind. They approached the truck slowly, and thankfully Cheyenne had the good sense to stick behind Bobby, who kept his gun pointed at the truck as the walked up to it. 

They were within two feet of the driver's side door when Bobby recoiled sharply, throwing up his hand to cover his mouth with a low grunt. "Fuck..."

Before Cheyenne could ask him what was wrong, the smell hit her, and she backed up a few steps, gagging loudly and covering her mouth as she tried to swallow back the bile that rose in her throat. A horrifying smell was emanating from the car, one that she wasn't familiar with, but that she could take a guess about. 

"Is that what I think it is?" She groaned, peering at Bobby, who'd pulled his shirt over his nose. After taking a second to steady herself, Cheyenne managed to make her way back over to the truck, breathing through her shirt like Bobby to try and stop herself from throwing up. 

Bobby swung his flashlight beam around the front seats, groaning gently. "Jesus Christ."

When Cheyenne got close enough, she realised what was wrong. Mark was sat in the front seat of the truck, his head tilted up towards to the roof, leaving his neck - and the large cut that split through it - exposed. Blood had tricked down his throat and stained the collar of his shirt, congealing against his dark skin and hardening the fabric of his clothing. Someone had slit his throat and left him for dead, and judging by the empty space beside him, it was Duane Tanner.

"Oh my God..." Cheyenne breathed, taking a few steps back in horror. Bile rose in her throat again, and this time she couldn't suppress it. Instead she leaned over the hard shoulder on the side of the road, dry heaving for a few moments before vomiting into the embankment on the other side of the shoulder. A second or two later Bobby had joined her, and was rubbing her back soothingly. 

"S'okay..." He said gently, rubbing circles on her back. "It's going to be okay."

This wasn't the first corpse she'd seen, not by a long shot, but it wasn't any easier to see the dead body of the man she'd grown up down the street from tossed aside like that, abandoned on the side of the road. Everything about it was so visceral, so horrifying, from the smell of the body to the sight of the exposed gash in his throat. 

Cheyenne threw up until there was nothing left in her stomach and she was just dry heaving again, her body lurching forwards until the metal of the hard shoulder dug into her stomach, the muscles of her back and stomach convulsing under Bobby's touch. Finally though, her body went slack against him, and eventually she straightened up, wiping her mouth of her sleeve. 

"Sorry," She mumbled eventually, looking up at Bobby through watery eyes, "Making a great first impression, huh?"

"I'm guessing you knew him." Bobby murmured, grabbing her a bottle of water from the trunk of his Chevelle. He passed it over to Cheyenne and she swilled water around her mouth before spitting it out, groaning gently. 

"Yeah. That's the guy I've been trying to call." She whispered hoarsely, shooting the truck an uncertain glance. "Guess I know why he wasn't picking up now." 

"Yeah, guess so." Bobby offered her a sympathetic look. "You want to leave?"

It felt perverse, leaving the body by the side of the road like he meant nothing, with not so much as a makeshift funeral for the man who'd been so kind to her as a child, but Cheyenne didn't have much of a choice. She could even bring herself to go back up to him, cover his body with something out of respect, so instead she did something she'd regret for years to come. Without even looking back at the truck one last time, without a word of goodbye to Mark Vargo, Cheyenne just got back into Bobby's car and let him drive her back to Sioux Falls. She didn't say another words for the rest of the journey.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they arrived back at the salvage yard, the Impala was parked out front, and they could see lights on inside. Bobby and Cheyenne got out of the car and made their way up the front steps slowly, walking into the warm house to the sound of Sam and Dean's voices. They were bickering good-naturedly - Cheyenne wasn't sure what about - but at the sound of the front door opening, they stopped. 

When Cheyenne walked into the living room, Dean jumped to his feet, almost on instinct so that he could go over to her. She knew he had half a mind to chew them both out for running off back to Oregon as soon as his back was turned, but he saw their expressions and stopped in his tracks. 

"What happened?"

"Mark's dead." Cheyenne whispered, hardly believing the words as she said them. "We found his car on the side of the road, his throat..."

She didn't need to say anything more, which was good because she physically couldn't have done if she'd tried. Instead, Dean pulled her into his arms, shushing her gently and soothing her as he hugged her tightly. "Hey... It's okay... I'm so sorry, Chey."

She heard Bobby and Sam talking quietly, but couldn't make out what they were saying. She just buried her face in Dean's shirt, holding onto him as tightly as she could, almost as if she was worried he'd slip through her fingers. 

Eventually, Dean suggested going up to her room so she could sit down, and she didn't argue with him. Whether she wanted privacy, or just didn't have the energy to disagree with him, Dean didn't know. Either way, he led her upstairs to the room Bobby had set out for her and eased her onto the bed, where she sat staring into middle distance, struggling to speak. 

She couldn't cry any more. She was so emotionally exhausted she honestly wasn't sure if she'd be  _able_  to cry again, so instead she just sat there, clinging onto Dean's hand. "I can't lose anyone else."

Dean's heart sank at the words. She sounded so desperate, so innocent - almost childlike. He didn't know what to say to make her feel better though, couldn't find the words to comfort her. So instead, he just let her talk. 

"Ana, Jake... my Nana..." Cheyenne's voice trembled when she spoke. "And now Mark? I just don't know how much longer I can keep doing this, Dean..."

Something twisted uncomfortably in Dean's stomach at the words. She was right. This wasn't a life, it wasn't the life she deserved. She needed to be safe, to be happy. She shouldn't be caught up in this mess with him. 

"You're right." He finally croaked, even though it killed him to say it. "When you're up for it, I'll get Bobby to drive you back to Wisconsin, let you get back to your old life."

Her head flicked up sharply at that.  _No_. That wasn't what she'd meant. "Dean, I-"

"I wont... Bother you. I'll lose your number if you want." He carried on, his voice shaking at the thought of having to walk away from her again. Maybe he should have stayed gone the first time. Maybe he just should have burned Eloise's bones and then walked back out the door. It would have been easier that way. 

"Dean, stop." She said gently, her grip on his hand bordering on painful as she scooted closer to him on the edge of the bed. "That's not what I meant."

"Chey, this isn't a  _life_." He whispered, finally fathering the courage to look her in the eye. "I mean, ever since you met me your life's been turning to shit. Think about everyone you've lost, think about everything you've been through... You don't deserve this."

"Stop it." She said sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. "Dean, when I said I don't want to lose anyone else, that includes  _you_." 

He paused at that, confused. She was scared, she'd watched more people that she cared about die than most people her age, and yet... She didn't want to leave?

She must have seen the confusion on his face, because one hand came to rest gently on his cheek, her thumb scratching at the stubble. "Dean, I love you more than anything. And  _yes_ , I want out. I want to forget about all of this and run, but I'm not doing that unless you're with me." 

"Chey, your hometown just got wiped out," He whispered, "Everything I touch turns to shit, I can't have that happen to you too..."

"Dean, I can't walk away from you. I can't lose you again," She sniffed, "Not after last time. I just... Just promise me that when this is all over, we'll get out together and go somewhere."

He couldn't promise that. He couldn't know for certain that he wasn't going to get his throat torn out tomorrow by a vampire, or that next week the Yellow-Eyed-Demon wasn't going to snap his neck and toss his body aside. He couldn't  _promise_ , but he could pretend. 

Which was exactly what he did. After sitting so his back was against the headboard and pulling Cheyenne into his arms, he started to talk about what they'd do when he and Sam finally got out of Hunting. He talked about the roadtrips they'd go on, driving to see the Grand Canyon or the Great Lakes (not the Canadian part though). He talked about going off the grid for a while, just finding themselves somewhere quiet and rural to relax after all the stress of Hunting. 

By the time Dean had tentatively brought up the white picket fence with the kids that had his eyes and her smile and ran around their front yard, she'd fallen asleep in his arms. He kept talking anyway, stroking her hair back from her face as he suggested baby names. John and Mary were top of the list, because of course they were, but so were Ana and Jake. 

They'd never talked about kids, and Dean didn't even know if she wanted them. She'd never seemed particularly maternal, except for occasionally cooing at a baby when they passed it in the street, or pointing out a toddler on an advert when they watched tv. Hell, Dean himself had never been particularly bowled over by the prospect of having kids. They were loud, and they were messy and they were downright annoying, and if Dean was honest with himself, he was terrified of turning out like John. He didn't want to be that cold or distant, barking orders like a drill sergeant rather than a father. 

But kids were a nice fantasy, and one he'd allowed himself to indulge in from time to time, especially when he and Sam worked a case in the suburbs. He'd always sneered at soccer moms and their corporate husbands, dashing off to work in their Priuses with bluetooth headsets already on while their wives bundled the kids into a minivan before dropping them off at school. The idea of faking a smile at the next-door neighbour you secretly hated and forcing idle conversation while you watered your garden in the morning made Dean want to vomit. It would be different with Cheyenne though, he figured. There'd be none of the painted on smiles, none of the Hallmark-card bullshit that made his stomach turn. Just the two of them, together. Happy. 

The first time Dean had pictured himself with kids, it had been after a case involving a young family in Maryland, about five months after he and Cheyenne had gotten back together. The family's young son, a little boy named Eddie, had ended up clinging onto Dean's leg to give him a hug goodbye when the case was finished, and after watching the young family drive off together, Dean felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest. That night, when Sam had been snoring gently in the other bed, Dean had laid awake, staring up at the ceiling. He'd pictured her telling him she was pregnant, her eyes shining with tears of joy, her voice wavering with excitement. He'd pictured a tiny baby, unimaginably small in his arms as he cradled it to his chest. He'd pictured kids - two kids - waking them up early on the weekend by jumping on their bed and screaming their names. When he'd fallen asleep that night, it had been to the thought of her by his side, their children curled up between them. 

From there on it had been a guilty pleasure to indulge in when he was at his lowest. He'd thought about it a few times after John had died, using the white-picket fence and the beaming kids as an escape from the reality that made him want to scream until he was hoarse. He'd thought about it even more while he'd been staying at her house in Oregon, picturing two children running around in the front yard while they drank their coffees, maybe watching Sam chase them around. 

As Dean held her close, he told her all of that. He told her everything that he'd spent the past few months allowing himself to think about, allowing himself to dream about, while she cuddled up close to him, murmuring his name in her sleep. 

He only wished he had the guts to tell her all of this while she was awake.


	38. Chapter 38

It had been five weeks since Oregon. 

No-one spoke about it, but they kept tabs on the police investigation that had taken place in the small town, feeding each other information behind Cheyenne's back when she was out in Sioux Falls or upstairs in her room. According to the articles online, and what little information they could gather from Hunters, Rivergrove had been left with no survivors, which meant that whatever had killed Mark had likely gone back to town to kill Dr Lee, especially as it didn't seem like she ever managed to place the call to the authorities. The carnage had been discovered about a week after everything had happened - a young couple of a road trip had stumbled upon the town by accident. 

About three weeks after Cheyenne had started staying at Bobby's, she'd had a call from the authorities. She was registered as an occupant of her home in Rivergrove still, and as her body was one of the few that were unaccounted for, the police had tried to contact her. Given Dean's police record, it seemed like a bad idea to drive back into a town that would be crawling with cops - or even feds - so he and Sam hung back in South Dakota while Bobby drove Cheyenne down, posing as a friend of the family. 

Cheyenne had answered some questions, told the police that she'd left the morning everything had happened, and that when she'd driven out of town she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. That was a lie, of course, not that the cops had any way to verify that. After thanking her for her cooperation and apologising for her loss, the police let Cheyenne and Bobby go, and she could finally try and push the town, and everything that had happened in it, out of her mind. 

After that, she'd driven back up to Wisconsin. Even after three weeks at Bobby's place, Cheyenne had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, but she knew that Madison, Wisconsin and the Fair Oaks Diner weren't going to play a part in her future. So she'd driven up, quit her job and handed in her apron, and returned to her apartment. 

Which was where she was five weeks after Oregon, when her cellphone rang. It was Dean, calling to let her know that the newest case he and Sam were working was in Milwaukee, less than hours drive (at Dean's speed) from her doorstep. He'd promised her that when the case was over he and Sam would come to see her, and help her figure out whatever it was that she wanted to do next. 

Most of her belongings were in boxes now, and she'd told her landlord she'd be pulling out of her contract. It was about four in the afternoon, and she'd just gotten off the phone to Dean. He'd told her that the case involved a shapeshifter - not something that she'd read much about yet - and that it was robbing banks in Milwaukee, but they thought they were closing in on it. Hopefully by the end of the night, he and Sam would be at hers for some celebratory beers, and they could head back to Sioux Falls together. 

Cheyenne looked around her oddly bare apartment with a heavy sigh. She'd spent nearly four years living here, and had a lot of memories, some of which were awful, but most of which weren't. It felt like she was coming to the end of an era. 

Cheyenne walked through the kitchen slowly, tracing her fingers over the groove in the corner of the fridge that Jake had left after one drunken evening where he'd insisted on trying to cook for her and Ana. How he'd managed to slam a frying pain into the edge of the fridge, she'd never know, but she couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth as her fingertips danced over the cool metal. 

The stove was in desperate need of replacing, not that she or Ana had ever bothered to tell the landlord. The labels had worn off every single dial, so cooking had become largely guesswork when trying to select the right temperature. The back left ring on the cooktop no longer worked, and the front right had an odd stain that Cheyenne had never quite managed to get out, but after nearly four years of being used by students (and Dean) she figured it had held out quite well. She carried on through the kitchen, her fingertips dragging along the countertop as she walked. How many hundreds of conversations had she had, perched on top of this counter, or leaning over it as she watched Ana cook? How many times had Dean picked her up and sat her on it, his arms wrapped tight around her waist as he kissed her?

The front room was barely recognisable now. The basic furniture was the same as when she and Ana had first moved in together all those years earlier, but since Ana and Jake's belongings had been taken out, and she'd packed up the last of her things, it didn't even look like her own front room. At one point there had been a large painting that had hung above the TV, but eventually that had moved into Ana's room, and it had been replaced by a poster of Brad Pitt that they'd picked up at a thrift store. Initially, it had just been a temporary measure, but as time had gone on Brad had become a permanent fixture of the apartment, and they'd never bothered to find a replacement for him, even after Jake took Ana's room. He was long gone now though, had been since Ana and Jake had died. Cheyenne couldn't bare to have the poster up - every time she'd looked at it she'd heard Ana's laughter, heard her joking about marrying Brad Pitt one day. 

The coffee table in the centre of the room was clear now, for probably the first time in four years. When Cheyenne and Ana lived there, it had become a dumping ground for books and DVD cases among other things, but the one constant that had remained was the vase in the centre of the table. Cheyenne had a very strict No Flowers In The House policy, with the notable exception of sunflowers, and Ana's favourite flower was the Dahlia - the flower of Mexico - so the table was always accented with a vase of dahlias and sunflowers. Cheyenne hadn't been able to look at either flower since they'd buried Ana, and she'd laid a bouquet of them on her grave. 

During the months that Cheyenne had lived alone, she'd hung a poster of Otis Redding's  _Love Man_  single cover over the TV (courtesy of Dean) and placed a cactus on the coffee table, although over time it had become mostly obscured by revision notes for her finals, like almost everything else in the apartment. 

Cheyenne had three boxes of things she was taking to Bobby's, that was all. Given that all she'd taken from her house in Oregon was a handful of photographs and a bag of clothes, three boxes of stuff was about all she had to her name. As Cheyenne threw herself down on the couch and stared at the boxes, she shook her head with a wry smile. She was nearly twenty three years old, and what did she have to show for it? Two boxes of clothes, a box of bits and pieces she'd collected over the last four years that reminded her of her old friends, or of Dean, an Otis Redding poster and her beaten up Ford Pickup. 

Oh, and she had a cactus, too. 

"Helluva a life, Foster." She chuckled drily, turning on the TV for some background noise as she went to get a beer. The channel flicked on to Channel 8 news, and as Cheyenne pulled a beer out of the fridge, she thought she heard something about a hostage situation. 

"What the hell?" She murmured to herself, walking back into the room as the screen filled with a shot of the Milwaukee city bank. According to the young brunette newscaster, a man had taken a group of people inside the bank hostage, but there were very few details. As she watched, Cheyenne had a horrible sinking feeling in her gut. 

"Why do I know they're in there?" She groaned, reaching for her cellphone and dialling Dean's number. When he didn't answer, she tried Sam's cellphone instead. He didn't answer either, and eventually, she heard the tone for his voicemail. 

"Samuel Winchester," She began, trying to sound as threatening as possible, "I swear to God, if you and your  _idiot_  older brother are in that bank, I'm going to kill the pair of you. One of you had better call me back, or I'm going to find a way to get in there and you're not going to like what I do when I get hold of you." 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been three hours since Cheyenne had sat down to watch the news about the hostage situation, and she was still debating driving to Milwaukee. Not that it would have made much of a difference to the outcome. 

She'd just come back from the kitchen with a new bottle of beer when an emergency update flared up on the screen. Cheyenne could have screamed when she saw what the update was on - apparently, one of the hostages was being released. That wouldn't have been a problem, except she recognised the man who pushed the hostage out of the door. 

It was Dean. With a gun in one hand, and a hostage in the other, he appeared on her screen by the doors to the bank. For a few moments he looked around in surprise - obviously he hadn't expected to come face to face with a bunch of TV cameras and cops. He stared into the camera in stunned silence for a moment before ducking back inside, slamming the door closed behind him and locking it. 

Cheyenne's phone was in her hand again, and she was dialling his number. When he didn't pick up, she left a voicemail. "Dean,  _pick up your phone_. I'm going to keep calling you until you answer me, so don't you dare ignore me."

It took another four phone calls, but finally Dean picked up. He sounded a little out of breath, and his voice was hushed like he was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. When he spoke, he tried to keep his voice upbeat. "Hey baby, what's up?"

"Don't you  _dare_  'Hey baby' me." She snarled, jumping to her feet. "Why the hell am I watching you drop hostages off outside the City Bank in Milwaukee, huh? What have you and Sam gotten involved in?"

Dean paused. "Uh... Well we were working a job."

" _And_?"

"And it... Hasn't gone entirely to plan." Dean admitted. On the other end of the line, Cheyenne heard a phone ring. "Listen, things are kind of crazy in here right now. The shifter's still in here, but it got away, and we've got to try and deal with the cops. I'm going to have to call you back."

"Dean, don't-" before she could finish her sentence, Dean had hung up. Before she could call him back though, her phone began to ring. It was Bobby. 

"Are you seeing this?" He hissed. "How the hell did they get themselves into this?"

"I don't know..." Cheyenne groaned, taking a large gulp of beer. "But it looks bad, Bobby. I don't know what to do."

"Nothin' you can do, kid." He sighed "Except maybe get some alcohol and a first aid kit ready for when they stumble through your door. You can patch up a bullet wound, right?"

Cheyenne swallowed hard, casting the TV a nervous glance. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm half joking." Bobby admitted after a pause. "Just... Be ready, I guess."

"Yeah..." She sighed, hearing the dial tone when Bobby hung up. The TV was showing a repeat of the clip of Dean poking his head out of the building, only now it had a fresh tagline.  _Dean Winchester, St. Louis Psycho._  Apparently, someone from Channel 8 News had managed to get hold of information on him, which they were lambasting across the screen. 

Cheyenne knew about the murders in St. Louis the year before, knew that they were courtesy of another shapeshifter that had worn Dean's skin, and the murders had been pinned on him. Now they were circulating a police sketch of Dean that didn't look entirely like him, but enough for a person to recognise him. Cheyenne realised with a sinking sensation that even if Sam and Dean did escape, in all likelihood they wouldn't get very far before being recognised. 

She turned the volume up on the TV as another update flashed onscreen. The Feds were storming the building, planning to take out the 'dangerous criminals' and free the hostages by force. Cheyenne felt her heart leap into her chest at the sight of the SWAT team crowding the doors, and as they piled inside the bank, she watched in horror. She'd always thought it was awful not hearing from Dean while he worked, not knowing if he was alive or dead, or horribly injured until he called her in the dead of the night to assure her he was fine. 

It was worse, watching it unfold in front of her like this. It was so much worse, being able to see how much danger he was in, being able to see how close he was to getting caught, but being completely powerless to help him. She felt worthless, sat here in her apartment, her heart in her throat as they overlaid footage from the bank with information - misinformation - about the boys and about John, and with Dean's police sketch. They were playing the number to a federal hotline for information on Dean, which Cheyenne was half tempted to call up and scream into, but she resisted the urge. Instead, she waited. Waited for news that they'd caught them. Waited for images of the boys being led out in handcuffs, or worse - waited for their bodies to be carried out on stretchers, white blankets covering their faces. 

The minutes stretched out until she could barely take it, but when fifteen minutes had gone by and there was no sign of the SWAT team coming out with Sam or Dean, Cheyenne started to let herself believe that maybe  _somehow_  they'd escaped. Maybe they'd slipped past the guards, or maybe they'd found somewhere secure enough that the SWAT team couldn't find them. Either way, no bodies had been brought out yet, which meant they weren't dead. 

It was half an hour before her phone rang. "Dean! Oh thank God, I've been so-"

"Cheyenne." He cut across her quickly, and if she didn't know any better she would have said he almost sounded scared. "We've got a problem."

"You're telling me..." She glanced back at the TV. They were still circulating that clip of Dean, now paired with an image from the security cameras, showing him and Sam. "You guys have the Feds on your tail now?"

"It's not just that." She heard a shaky sigh. "Chey, I'm so sorry."

That didn't sound good. "For what?"

"Chey, the Agent who came after us... He spoke to me before they raided the building. He knows about you. Knows we broke up, but he knows I was back in town after Ana and Jake died too. I'm so sorry, but he... He's gonna come after you. He's going to check whether or not you're hiding us. I've been trying so hard to keep you out of all of this, Cheyenne but..." 

Dean broke off for a second with a shaky sigh before speaking again. "It's too late now, I guess. He's gonna come after you, ask you questions. He's going to want to know about us, where we're headed, where we'll be hiding."

"Then don't tell me." She said quietly. "Don't tell me anything else, okay? It'll be easier to lie to him if I don't know anything."

Dean paused for a moment, uncertain. "You're going to cover for us?"

"Of course I am." She stood up, frowning. "You think I'd give you up to the Feds?"

"Well I thought you wouldn't exactly be comfortable with-"

"I'm not." She admitted. "I'm not comfortable lying to the Feds, but I'm  _really_  not comfortable seeing you two serve out life sentences in a lockup in St. Louis. So don't tell me anything more, just find somewhere to hide out and lay low. And I'll see you at Bobby's in a few days."

Dean hated this. She knew he hated it from how hesitant he was to agree to the plan. They both knew that this was the final step. If she didn't cooperate with the Feds when they came to question her, she could end up on an FBI watchlist, and she'd be kissing her last chance for a normal life goodbye. There was no turning back after this. 

"Dean," She urged gently, "It's okay. Just concentrate on staying safe, and I'll see you soon. I love you."

"I love you too." He whispered, his voice barely even audible. "So much, Chey."

When he hung up, she listened to the dial tone for a few moments, before throwing her phone down on the couch and figuring out what to do next, setting about making sure that everything she needed for a quick getaway was packed before opening up another beer and waiting for the Feds to arrive. By the time she heard the knock on her front door an hour later, the nervous tremor in her hands had disappeared, and she appeared completely calm. 

At the knocking, Cheyenne got up slowly and went to front door, making sure it was on the latch before opening it a crack. "Can I help you?"

A tall man was stood on the other side of the door, holding up an FBI badge for her to see through the gap in the door. "Good evening, Miss Foster. My name's Agent Victor Henriksen. I've got a few questions for you, if you wouldn't mind opening the door."

This was it, Cheyenne thought as she unlatched the door. Sink or swim.


	39. Chapter 39

"So you've seen the news?" Henriksen asked as he walked into the front room. They were still replaying that clip of Dean at the bank. Cheyenne joined him in the front room, muting the TV. "How does that make you feel, hm? Not every day your boyfriend takes hostages in a bank and kills two people, is it?"

Cheyenne paused at his tone, watching as he walked around her apartment slowly, craning his neck to peer into the bedrooms and into the bathroom. He was checking to see if the Winchesters were hiding out in her apartment. "Dean's not my boyfriend."

"Yes, I know about your breakup." He nodded slowly. "Back in late '03. But I also know that he showed up back on campus not that long ago, after the death of two of your friends. Ana Garcia and Jake Phillips, right?"

It still stung, hearing their names, but Cheyenne managed a terse nod. "Yes. He drove up, stayed with me for a couple of days. He... wanted to know that I was okay."

"How sweet." Henriksen shot her a frighteningly cold smile. "Killer with a heart of gold."

Cheyenne opened her mouth to protest. Dean wasn't a killer - not the way he thought - but she closed her mouth almost instantly. It wasn't worth arguing about it. Henriksen noticed, she could almost see him making a mental note of it as he continued to make laps of her front room, before coming to a stop in front of her boxes. "Planning a trip?"

"It's been an eventful couple of months." She whispered. "I wanted a fresh start."

"Mmh." He nodded again, just as before. She knew he didn't believe her, but he gave almost nothing away. "I know about your father. And of course I know about everything that happened in Rivergrove."

Her heart raced at the mention of Rivergrove, and as Henriksen met her gaze, Cheyenne felt her palms grow sweaty. "You know, you're really very  _lucky_  you weren't in Rivergrove that day, Miss Foster."

"So I've been told." 

"I read your police statement." He said casually, starting to make laps again. When Henriksen walked, he took slow, languid steps like he owned the whole room, inviting her to challenge him. "I know you lost your grandmother, that must have been very difficult."

"Yeah," She croaked, avoiding his gaze. At least this wasn't a lie. "It was."

"So the fresh start makes sense. Quit your job two weeks ago, told your landlord to find new tenants after living here for almost four years." Cheyenne had to admit, she was impressed by his research. "So what's your plan?"

"Hadn't gotten that far. Figured I'd hit the road for a while, maybe go down to Austin."

"Why Austin?" He paused, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely interested. 

"Ana's buried there." She said quietly, folding her arms defensively over her chest. "Agent, is there something I can help you with?"

"Actually, Miss Foster." That dangerous tone of voice was back again. It was as if Henriksen knew Cheyenne was covering for them, even though there was  _no_   _way_  that he could. "There is. When was the last time you had contact with Dean."

"Tonight." She answered immediately. After all, lies were always more believable if they were rooted somewhat in truth. "After everything happened. He called to apologise."

"What for?" Henriksen leaned against the back of her couch. 

"For everything. The lies, the secrets. He apologised about St. Louis, too." She dropped her voice a little, as if she were ashamed to be telling him. For effect, Cheyenne gave a shaky sigh, tossing her head from side to side. "God, I can't believe him..."

"You didn't know about St. Louis?"

"I had no idea." She whispered tearfully, taking a deep breath to try and 'compose herself' before carrying on. "Dean didn't talk about what happened during our break up. The first I heard about it was when they played something about it on the news. When he called me, I asked if it was true and..." She met Henriksen's gaze slowly. "He didn't lie to me."

Henriksen was less sympathetic than she'd expected. "Guess you're feeling pretty stupid right now."

"A little, yeah."

"Did Dean say anything to you about where he was headed?" Henriksen asked, walking towards her slowly. "Even a hint, maybe?"

"No." She shook her head. "Didn't get the chance. I told him I never wanted to hear from him again. Told him that if he ever called again, I'd turn him in."

"How conscientious of you." Henriksen cocked an eyebrow. For a moment, Cheyenne didn't think he'd bought any of it, and she could almost picture him grabbing the handcuffs and hauling her into a Federal lockup for further questions. After a few seconds of silence though, he seemed to relax. "Well, if there's nothing else you can give us, then I'll get out of your way. Thank you for your cooperation."

Cheyenne was praying thanks to whatever God was listening to her, but didn't relax as Henriksen passed her on his way to the front door, pausing as he opened it. "Oh, Miss Foster? I'm aware you want that 'fresh start', but I'd appreciate it if you left your landlord with a forwarding address and a way to get in contact with you. We might need you for further questions, or to formally ID Dean's body when we catch him. After all, other than Sam you're probably the only person on earth who ever actually knew him."

Cold fear washed over Cheyenne at those words, but she tried her best to hide it as she nodded quickly, offering the Agent a quiet 'goodnight' and watching as he closed the door behind himself. Almost as soon as he was out of the apartment, Cheyenne felt her knees buckle beneath her, and she collapsed onto the kitchen floor in a shaky heap, gasping for air as she trembled with nerves.

She'd gotten away with it, but just  _barely_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Cheyenne set about disappearing. The first thing she needed to do was make a trip to the bank. Over the course of a few hours, Cheyenne drained as much money as she could from her bank accounts, stuffing rolled up hundred dollar bills into the tin that lived in her glove compartment before setting about transferring the rest of her money to a new account, one that she opened under the name Wendy Brown. 

Any money that would come from the eventual sale of her house in Rivergrove (presumably to investors after the initial shock of the massacre wore off) would have to be tackled at a later date, but for now, Cheyenne only needed to make sure that the majority of her money wasn't in her own account, just in case Henriksen decided to freeze her accounts, or track her withdrawals. 

After her money was secured in a new account, Cheyenne packed the last of her things into the back of her truck and handed the keys to her old apartment into her landlord. As instructed by Henriksen, she made sure to leave her cellphone number and the address of her house in Oregon with him, 'just in case' the FBI needed to get in contact with her. Once she left her landlord's house, Cheyenne headed for the docks, where she'd set up a meeting with an acquaintance of Bobby's. The one good thing about Hunters was they knew how to go off the grid, and as soon as Cheyenne had explained the situation to Bobby, he'd given her the name of a man who could set her up with false plates. He was a Hunter too, so he wouldn't ask any questions. 

Arnold Filmer wasn't what Cheyenne expected when she pulled up to the docks, making sure to park her Ford Pickup away from the few people that were milling around. He was sat alone beside his '74 Buick, whistling something that sounded familiar as he scanned the crowds of people. He was in his mid-fifties, with a beer gut that Cheyenne doubted helped his Hunting, but when she got close to the car, he straightened up, obviously giving her a quick once over to determine whether or not she was a threat. "Something I can help you with?"

"That depends." Cheyenne held up a wad of cash - $500 - and shot him a knowing smile. "Bobby Singer seems to think there is."

Arnold watched her for a few seconds before smiling gently. "Well, I like a woman who means business. What can I do you for, Darlin'? You need plates, an ID?"

"ID's I can get. I need plates, as many as you can give me for $500." She tossed the wad of cash in his direction, still keeping a good distance of five feet from the older man. She knew it was necessary, but Cheyenne wasn't wholly comfortable with doing shady deals with the criminal underbelly of Madison, Wisconsin. Even if the guy  _was_  a Hunter. 

Arnold caught the cash, shaking his head with a wry smile. "How about three plates? I'll even attach one of them for you now, and I'll take your old plates for free. How's that sound?"

"Sounds illegal." She forced a smile. "Do it."

Arnold tucked the money into his back pocket, chuckling as he turned and opened the trunk of his car. He produced three sets of licence plates and a screwdriver, and after Cheyenne directed him to her Ford, he fixed Wyoming plates to the front and back, tossing the spares into the back seat and taking her old Wisconsin plates for himself. 

Cheyenne thanked him and got into her car. As she kicked the engine into gear, Arnold appeared at her window. "Do I want to ask why you're changing your plates, young lady?"

Cheyenne shot him a wry smile. Bobby might have trusted him to fix her plates, but she figured leaving too much of a trail for Henriksen probably wasn't a smart move. "It's one of those... Need to know situations." 

He searched her face for any kind of indication of who - or what - she was running from, but after a moment he just gave her a terse nod, passing her a scrap of paper. "If Bobby sent you, I can take a guess. You stay safe, you hear? And if there's anything you need, supplies or help, you call that number."

Cheyenne was surprised by the gesture, and touched. She'd learned from her time at Bobby's that Hunters tended to look out for each other. Generally it was with unspoken promises and subtle offers, but that trust was there, for the most part. She accepted Arnold's phone number and thanked him again, before driving off. 

On the off chance that Henriksen was waiting for Cheyenne to make some kind of a move to meet up with Dean, she and Bobby had decided that it was safer for her to go somewhere else before meeting up in Sioux Falls. He'd given her directions to a bar, a place he'd assured her was a save haven for Hunters, where she'd be taken care of but left alone. Just as long as she paid her tab and didn't cause any trouble, no one would ask questions. So after tossing the battery of her cellphone into the trash at a gas station outside Iowa City, and snapping her cellphone in half in Des Moines, Cheyenne headed to Nebraska. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The neon sign that hung above the door read  _Harvelle's Roadhouse_ , and as Cheyenne approached the the bar with her hand closed tightly around the flip knife in her jacket pocket, she could see why Hunters frequented it. It reminded her from the bar in the beginning of  _Terminator 2_ , even down to the two men perched on motorbikes outside, the engines revving gently as she walked past them and into the bar. 

The Roadhouse wasn't particularly big, but that didn't seem to be much of a problem. A group of men crowded around an arcade machine that was pushed against the wall, and another much larger and  _much_  louder group were around the pool table, every single man sloshing beer over himself and his friends as he jostled around the game. Cheyenne gave them a wide berth as she made her way through the room, up to the bar. 

A woman in her early fifties approached Cheyenne as soon as she got close to the bar, shooting her a warm smile. "Evening, sweetheart."

"Uh, hi." Cheyenne said quietly, trying to ignore the middle-aged man beside her who was very obviously leering at her. "I'm looking for someone."

"Most folks who come here are." She rested her elbows on the bar, leaning a little closer. "Let me guess -you're Cheyenne."

"Ellen?" She asked hesitantly. The older woman shot her another warm smile and a nod. 

"Bobby called ahead, explained everything. And then Dean called about a half hour later to tell me that if anything happens to you while you're here, he'll come down here himself and kill all my patrons." Ellen shook her head, giving a wry chuckle. "So, why don't I show you your room? C'mon, follow me."

Grateful for her warm hospitality and lack of scrutiny, Cheyenne followed Ellen out of the main bar area and into the back. From one of the rooms, Cheyenne could hear loud music, and as she passed by the door, she spotted a sign that read 'Doctor Badass is in'. Ellen saw her looking, and laughed. "That's Ash's room. He's just about the dumbest genius I've ever met, but he's been a big help to your boys."

"They're uh..." Cheyenne blushed as they came to a stop outside a room, which Ellen pushed the door open to. "They're not my boys."

Ellen smiled at that, switching on the light for her. "Well honey, I think you and I both know that ain't true. Why don't you wash up, get some rest, and we'll talk later, okay?"

Cheyenne dropped her duffel in the corner of the room, nodding slowly. She was exhausted from the eleven hour drive to Nebraska, and was grateful for the inviting looking cot tucked into the corner of the room. "Sounds good, thanks Ellen."

"Not a problem, sweetheart." Ellen closed the door with a gentle click behind her, leaving Cheyenne alone to perch on the cot before easing herself into it properly, staring up at the ceiling. Ordinarily, she'd have called Dean to let him know how the day had gone, and to assure him that she was safe, but since she'd ditched her cellphone and hadn't managed to get hold of a burner phone yet, she couldn't. She couldn't even call Bobby to get him to pass on a message, so instead, she took Ellen's advice and closed her eyes. She'd just rest, for half an hour before going to find Ellen. 

Just half an hour...

When Cheyenne opened her eyes again, the faint sound of music and laughter had disappeared, and the bar sounded oddly quiet. Easing herself out of the cot, Cheyenne opened the door with a creak and crept out into the corridor before heading out into the main bar area. It was empty, save for Ellen who was wiping down the bar, and a man who was sat in the corner, hunched over a laptop. Ellen spotted her first, a warm smile breaking out over her face. "Look who's up."

"Hi." Cheyenne stifled a yawn, sliding into a bar stool. "How long was I out?"

"Hours." Ellen smiled gently, still wiping down the bar. "Figured it was kinder to let you sleep. From the sounds of things, you've had a helluva day."

"Sam and Dean had it worse." She sighed, pushing hair out of her face. God, she just wished she could call them. All she wanted was to hear Dean's voice, just to know that he was okay... 

Ellen shrugged, grabbing two glasses from behind the bar and a bottle of whiskey. "Sam and Dean are Hunters. They're used to being on the wrong side of the law.  _You_  on the other hand... You ain't a Hunter."

"Getting closer to it every day though." She accepted the glass of whiskey with a wry smile. "I've spent the past few weeks working at Bobby's."

"Bet Dean loves that." Ellen chuckled, sipping her whiskey. Cheyenne shared her smile for a brief moment before following suit and taking a drink from her own glass. "Seeing the girl he loves getting mixed up in all of this."

Cheyenne thought about Dean for a moment, thought about how guilty he must have been feeling in whatever motel he and Sam were hiding out in. He'd tried so hard to keep her out of harm's way, tried to keep her away from Hunting. Despite all of his efforts though, she'd still ended up knee deep in all of it. She was hiding out from the Feds, she was spending more time with Hunters than with regular people, and the possibility of her going back to leading a normal life looked like it had all but vanished. 

"He hates it." She admitted quietly. "Not much that we can do about it now, though. I'm through the looking glass now."

"That you are, sweetheart," Ellen agreed, clinking her glass against Cheyenne's, "That you are."

"Are you a Hunter?" Cheyenne asked, after a moment of silence. The older woman smiled sadly. 

"Of sorts. I used to be, but in the end I decided to just start helpin' Hunters who needed a place to stay and drink themselves stupid rather than go out and chase ghosts myself. Used to run this place with my daughter, Jo." Ellen paused, taking another drink. "Until she started Hunting, courtesy of your Winchesters. She snuck out to work a case with them, and they let her. God, I could've wrung Dean's neck when I found out. Now it's just me and Ash." She gestured to the man sat behind them, who hadn't shifted from where he was hunched over his laptop. 

"What's he doing?" Cheyenne asked. 

"How much do you know about the Demon?"

Cheyenne turned back to Ellen, shrugging. "A little."

"You know there are other kids like Sam?" Ellen asked. Cheyenne nodded slowly. Dean had told her a little about the other children when they were in Oregon. "Well, Ash is tracking them. Sort of. He's trying to figure out a pattern, trying to follow it so they boys can find the other kids like Sam before anything happens to them."

Ellen must have seen how overwhelmed Cheyenne looked, because she chuckled gently. "How about I make us up some grilled cheese sandwiches, huh? Being on the lam for the first time is pretty exhausting work."

Before the older woman had spoken, Cheyenne hadn't realised how hungry she was, but a the mention of food, her stomach growled expectantly. "That'd be really nice. Thanks, Ellen."

"No problem. Oh, and there's a payphone on the wall back there." Ellen directed her with one pointed finger. "In case you wanted to call the boys."

A payphone provided her with relative anonymity, so after fishing some change out of her pocket, Cheyenne all but ran to the other side of the bar to dial Bobby's number. He picked up on the second ring. "Singer here."

"Bobby? It's Cheyenne."

"Hey, kid." Bobby breathed a relieved sigh. "Good to hear your voice. You got to the Roadhouse okay?"

"No problems getting here, everything went as planned. Which is a first." She smiled gently. "Ellen's been really friendly, she seems nice."

"You're in good hands." Bobby assured her, before saying something to someone in the room with him. "Alright, fine! Take the damn phone."

She heard shuffling, and then Dean's voice. "Baby? Cheyenne?"

Just like that, the tension in Cheyenne's shoulders dissipated, and she relaxed against the wall at the sound of his low baritone. "Hey, Dean..."

He spoke quickly, excitedly, asking a million questions without giving her time to answer half of them. He wanted to know if she'd covered her tracks, managed to get through the conversation with Henriksen okay. Had the drive gone alright, was she sure that she wasn't followed? How was the Roadhouse? Was Ellen treating her okay?

Cheyenne assured him that everything was fine, that she'd lay low in the bar for a few days before making her way to Bobby's again and meeting up with him. She'd be fine, she was safe, and he didn't need to worry. It was good to hear his voice again, helped her to relax a little after the stressful day she'd had, but almost as soon as she'd hung up, the tension returned. As she walked back to the bar, Cheyenne bit back a heavy sigh. 

She'd give anything to be in his arms right now.


	40. Chapter 40

"You're sure you'll be okay?" Ellen asked. From where she was grabbing the last few discarded glasses from tables across the empty bar, Cheyenne smiled gently, touched by the older woman's concern. 

"I'll be fine." She assured her, walking back to the bar with them empty glasses. "It's been a week and a half. I think the boys are even back working cases."

"I ain't charging you rent." Ellen reminded her gently. "Don't want you running off and running straight into an FBI agent as soon as your ass is out the door."

"Ellen, I promise you I'll be okay." Cheyenne smiled, leaning against the wood of the bar. "I've got the burner phone you gave me, I'll make sure to use false names in any motels I use from now on, and I've got new plates on my car. I'm sure I can make it to Sioux Falls in one piece."

"Mmh." The older woman didn't look completely convinced, but nonetheless, she produced an envelope from under the bar, sliding it over to Cheyenne. "Take these though."

"What are they?"

"ID cards." Ellen smiled gently, watching as the younger woman opened the envelope and pulled the ID cards out, looking through them slowly. "You can't be a Hunter without 'em. Now, I know Sam and Dean love using band members for their IDs, but Ash figured it'd look a little suspicious if all three of you showed up in town as Gibbons, Beard and Hill." 

Cheyenne chuckled gently as she looked at the IDs. "Yeah, they already played the  _ZZ Top_  card back in Oregon."

"Yeah, well Ash figured given your background you'd appreciate the names he picked out for you."

Joan Locke from the FBI, Jennette Bentham of the CDC, Helen Spencer, Maxine Weber and Tamara Hobbes, among others that Cheyenne scanned over quickly. Ash had obviously done his research and seen her degree, and handpicked her identities from some of the Philosophers she'd studied. It made sense - after all, the false bank account she'd opened to transfer some of her money to was listed under the name Wendy Brown, who'd spoken at her college during her Freshman year. It was a nice touch, and one she appreciated. 

"Thanks," She laughed, slipping the ID cards back into the envelope. "These are great, Ellen."

"Not a problem, sweetheart." Ellen gave her a short nod. "You take care of yourself out on that road, you hear me?"

"I will." She promised, tucking the envelope into the duffel she'd left on the floor of the bar. During the week she'd spent at the Roadhouse, Cheyenne had helped Ellen manage the flow of drunken Hunters that filtered through on their way to cases. She'd tended bar, served drinks and helped to clean up afterwards, all while asking questions, making notes about what she heard and saw. In terms of learning how to be a Hunter, working at the Roadhouse was some of the best education she could have gotten. 

Now it was time to go though. She had a pocketful of money from drunk Hunters who tended to tip more generously when she served their beers while wearing a low cut blouse and tight jeans; she had a 9mm Luger tucked into her jacket pocket courtesy of Ellen, and a sawn-off loaded with rock salt in the passenger side footwell of her car. Cheyenne certainly wasn't a Hunter - far from it - but she felt safe enough to head out to Sioux Falls alone. 

Ellen watched as the younger woman threw her duffel into the passenger's seat and clambered into her well-loved Ford, pausing only to wave goodbye before starting the engine and peeling out of the parking lot with a screech of tyres. For a few moments, Ellen stood by the doorway of the Roadhouse as Cheyenne's headlights disappeared down the long stretch of rural Nebraska road, before turning back inside and heading for the phone. The call she made was to Bobby Singer. 

"She's headed your way." She informed him as he picked up. 

"It's two in the morning." He pointed out. Ellen couldn't help but chuckle. 

"I know. She offered to help clean up the bar after folks cleared out, stayed for one last drink before she headed out. I think she'll catch some shut eye in a motel before she gets to you in the morning." Ellen paused, her gaze lingering on the door Cheyenne had walked out of only minutes before. "She's a good kid, Bobby. Reminds me of my Jo."

"She is." Bobby agreed. "Seems to have a nose for trouble, though."

"Ah, well she's practically a Winchester, then."

They talked for a few more minutes about the boys, both worrying about Sam's visions, about the Demon's plans, and about how the brothers were coping with John's sudden death. They both agreed that Dean seemed to be a little better, a little more at ease than he had been during the first month after they'd buried their father, but he still seemed unsettled. After saying their goodbyes, Ellen hung up and locked the bar, casting one last glance out of the window at the now deserted road before heading to bed. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cheyenne was about two hours out from Bobby's when she had to pull over to stop for gas. It was a little after six, an the sun was just starting to rise as Cheyenne pulled into the parking lot for  _Abby's_ , which seemed to be a convenience store/diner/gas station. She figured in a town the size of Pickstown, which had boasted a population of 201 on the sign as she'd driven close,  _Abby's_  was more than likely the only place to eat. 

Tired from the drive and a lack of a regular sleep schedule, and starving after she'd driven through the night without eating, Cheyenne decided to step inside for a bite to eat before filling up her Pickup and carrying on to Sioux Falls. 

Although she'd spent most of the past four years living in Madison, and she'd enjoyed the freedom that living in such a big city afforded her, Cheyenne had grown up in a small town, she'd been raised three steps from the wilderness. Ana and had never dared to set foot outside of a city that didn't have a half-decent public transportation system and at least two police departments close by, but Cheyenne had never shared their trepidation. On the few short road trips they taken during their four years of college, she'd always been the one to suggest exploring the small towns they passed through, and as she walked into  _Abby's_ , the sight of a fishing tackle advertisement was oddly comforting. 

What  _Abby's_ lacked in size it made up for in small-town hospitality. From the waitress serving coffee in the semi-closed off diner area to the elderly man stood at the cash register in the main convenience store part of the building, all Cheyenne could see were warm smiles. 

She ordered a coffee and a short stack of house pancakes before easing herself into a booth at the back corner of the diner to check through her text messages. She had one missed text from Dean, sent a couple of hours earlier to assure her that his most recent case with Sam had been wrapped up, and then another text not long after to let her know that they were headed back to Bobby's. 

She missed him. It hadn't even been two weeks since they'd seen each other, but while she'd been hiding out at the Roadhouse and he'd been on a case with his brother, they'd both had to fly under the radar a little, which meant keeping contact to a minimum. Phone calls were few and far between, and had to be as short as possible. They couldn't talk openly about anything, couldn't talk about the ongoing manhunt, or Henriksen, or even how much they missed each other for fear of a Hunter at the Roadhouse listening in. Dean didn't trust anyone at the bar besides Ellen and Ash, and warned Cheyenne not to get too close to anyone, for her own sake as well as his. 

It was for their own good, but it hadn't stopped the ache in her chest every time she'd thought about him, about how far away he was, and about how long it would be until they saw each other again properly. The more she thought about it, the weirder their relationship seemed to her. 

Two years ago when they'd first met, Dean had just been an attractive, alluring stranger. He'd reeked of mystery and danger, and somehow the thrill of knowing that in only a few weeks she'd be nothing but a notch on his belt seemed to make everything all the more exciting. He'd been hot, he'd been fun, but he'd been nothing more. Then he'd gone on the road with John, and she'd been okay with keeping their relationship casual. They'd gone weeks without seeing each other, sometimes more than a month. And that had been okay, for a while. But then, as time went on, it had become more difficult to be apart, more difficult to pretend that what was happening was just sex and nothing more. Neither of them had spoken about it, neither one had ever addressed it, but they'd stopped pretending that it was casual, that they weren't falling in love with each other. 

She'd tried to push those feelings away after he'd left her that night, calling her from the Impala instead of coming up to her room to say goodbye. She'd tried to pretend that she hadn't fallen in love with his stupid face and his stupid smile and those  _stupid_  green eyes, and for a little while, she almost believed it. Until of course he'd shown up out of the blue a year later, swept her up into his arms and made all of those feelings come rushing back. 

Cheyenne stirred her coffee lazily, gazing out of the window into the early morning light as she thought about the past few months since Dean had come back into her life. If anyone had asked her a year earlier what her post-grad plans were, she probably would have said something about going for a PhD and getting into teaching. She probably  _wouldn't_  have said that she'd end up back with her ex-boyfriend who hunted monsters, hiding out from the FBI because they thought he was a serial killer and she was covering for him. 

 _Man_ , she thought with a small smile,  _if_ _only Ana could see you now_. 

She could almost picture those warm eyes, so dark the pupils almost blended into the irises. If she concentrated hard enough, Cheyenne could even hear her voice, hear her teasing about how much trouble 'the dream dick' had gotten her into. Because of course, what had started out as the most casual fuck-buddy relationship in the world had turned into a Bonnie and Clyde love story that would have made Cheyenne's old roommate cry with laughter. 

Eventually, Cheyenne couldn't put off the rest of her journey much longer, and so she finished her breakfast and got up to pay. On her way to the counter, she passed the notice board she'd seen when she'd first walked in. The advert for the Fort Randall Bait & Tackle shop caught her eye again, but it was the three posters beneath it that made Cheyenne pause on the way to the register. Missing persons posters, all of them young women. 

The man behind the counter caught her looking at them. "Don't you worry yourself, young lady. Those girls will turn up soon. The police think they probably just ran away from home, got bored of this small town. Figure they probably ran off up to Sioux Falls, they'll all come home soon when they run out of money."

In a small town like this, it wasn't uncommon for teenage runaways to disappear a couple of times a year. Cheyenne remembered hearing horror stories in Rivergrove of teenage girls who'd run away with dreams of the big city. They'd usually turn up at a gas station halfway to Portland, but once or twice their bodies had been found in a ditch by the side of the road. One or two runaways a year sounded fairly standard, but these three posters were all new, all put up within the space of a month. 

She paid her bill and headed back to her truck, but when she slid into the driver's seat, Cheyenne didn't start the engine. Instead, she called Ellen, drumming the steering wheel as she waited for the older woman to pick up. 

"Cheyenne? That you?"

"Hey Ellen, yeah. Don't worry, I'm fine." She assured her, before she could speak. "But I'm in this little town a couple of hours outside Sioux Falls, and there's something I'd like Ash to check into, if he could..."

 

 

* * *

 

 

After promising Ash would email the information she needed over, Ellen told Cheyenne to get back on the road and head to Bobby's, but as soon as she was off the phone, she ignored the older woman's advice. Instead, she fished around in the glove compartment for the envelope of fake IDs, and produced Maxine Weber's FBI badge, which she slipped into her wallet before heading back into building. The old man from before, who'd so kindly offered to pump the gas for her car when she'd paid her bill, seemed surprised to see her back so quickly. "Something I can help you with, Miss?"

"Actually, yeah." She flashed her FBI badge at him, her heart speeding up a little as he peered at it, before jerking her thumb in the direction of the missing persons posters. "What can you tell me about those women?"

He seemed a little taken aback to be speaking to (what he thought was) an FBI agent, but after the assurance that she was off-duty and was here in an unofficial capacity, he seemed a little less tense. He told her about the women - Megan, Alice and Yasmin - all of whom had gone missing late at night, while entering or leaving town. All of their cars had been found, but so far none of the women had turned up. It might not have been an actual case, but it was suspicious nonetheless.

It was interesting how pliant people could be when they had a (fake) federal badge waved in their face. The elderly man didn't question it when Cheyenne asked to know the addresses of the missing women's families, and directed her to the closest motel in order to get washed up. She left the diner a few minutes later, surprised at how compliant the folks at  _Abby's_ had been, before getting back into her truck and driving to the nearby motel so she could shower. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been five hours since she'd phoned Ellen. Even with her pit-stop for gas and breakfast, Cheyenne should have been at Bobby's nearly three hours ago, and she was a little surprised at the lack of communication from him or Ellen. Neither of them had phoned her to demand where she was, yell at her about detouring on her way to Sioux Falls. Perhaps, she thought, they'd finally decided to trust her a little. 

She was wrong. 

Cheyenne peered at the notes she'd collected over the morning, from where she'd interviewed the families of the three missing women and gone to the spots where their cars had been found, marking the locations on a map that the motel had so kindly provided when asked. After five hours of research she wasn't quite sure if she'd found anything, but it still didn't seem like a normal case of runaways gone wrong. 

The loud and insistent knocking at her door startled her, and on instinct she reached for the pocket 9mm that Ellen had gifted her back at the Roadhouse, but she paused when she heard a familiar voice. "Cheyenne! I know you're in there, open the door!"

For a moment, Cheyenne froze. How the  _hell_  had they found her here?

The pounding on the door stopped, and then after a second Dean appeared by the window, spotting her through the blinds she hadn't quite pulled shut. As soon as he zeroed in on her, sat at the desk in the room, he scowled at her, jabbing a finger against the glass. "Open the God-Damn door."

With a reluctant sigh, Cheyenne got to her feet and unbolted the door, pulling it open slowly to look at Sam and Dean, both of whom looked equally angry. Actually, no - that wasn't fair.  _Dean_  looked furious, Sam looked concerned, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw she was okay. 

"Hi." She managed to say shyly. Dean ignored her, storming into the room without invitation to go to the desk, leafing through the notes she'd made that morning. His jaw was locked into one sharp line, the muscles down to his neck straining as he glared accusingly down at the papers. 

"How'd you find me?" She asked quietly, glancing at Sam as he stepped in a little more calmly. He shot her a sympathetic glance. 

"Ellen called Bobby, told him she was worried you'd found a case down here. He called us, and Dean broke every speed limit we passed to get down here. He's..." Sam cast his older brother a cursory glance. "Unhappy."

 _I'll say_. Cheyenne thought, biting her lip as she turned to face Dean, who still looked murderous. He'd finally stopped examining her notes, and was now looking at her from across the room, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he folded his arms. 

"Sam, give us a minute." He said quietly, his voice dangerously low. He'd only looked at her like this  _once_  before. Back in Rivergrove, after she'd run off without him to try and find her Nana. 

Sam shot her another sympathetic smile, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passed her on the way out. The door closed with a gentle click behind him, leaving Dean and Cheyenne alone. She expected him to launch into a tirade or a lecture as soon as the door closed, but to her surprise he didn't say anything. Not for a few moments, at least. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" 

Dean rarely raised his voice at her, even when he was angry. He knew that raised voices had an unfortunate side effect of setting every nerve on painfully high alert, and he also knew it was a gut reaction that she'd probably never be able to shed. When he was angry though, it showed. It showed in every muscle that strained against his shirts, every cold glance, every clipped word. And right now, he was  _pissed_. 

"I thought it was a case." She whispered. Even now, despite knowing Dean would never hurt her, despite knowing she was probably safer in this room than anywhere else in the world, Cheyenne couldn't keep the tremor of fear from her voice, couldn't keep her hands from shaking a little. She was determined to stand her ground, though. This wasn't  _Hunting_ , it was research. She didn't have a shotgun and iron in her hands when he'd found her, just some notes and a book. 

"You were supposed to go to Bobby's." He snapped. "Straight to Bobby's. Do not  _pass go_ , do not  _collect two hundred dollars_ , go straight there and wait for us to get back."

"It was just a couple of interviews-" She began, but Dean cut her off before she had the chance to explain herself. 

"That's not the point, Cheyenne!" He yelled suddenly, a little of his resolve slipping. When she jumped in surprise at his tone, and he saw uncontrollable fear flash across her face, Dean paused, reeling himself back in. He inhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb while he thought about his next words. 

"It's not the point." He said, more softly this time. "You're not a Hunter. You're a two hour drive from Bobby, four hours from the Roadhouse. What if this wasn't a case, huh? What if this turned out to be some psycho serial killer with a fetish for women driving alone? What if you poking around got him riled up, and he jumped you on your way back to the motel?"

He was crossing the room to her now, the anger on his face replaced with desperation. Getting angry wouldn't help him get his point across, and he knew that. But he also knew that he  _needed_  to get her to understand, somehow, how crazy it made him, knowing that she was out here alone, testing out the waters and trying to work cases. 

"I just can't see you get hurt." He whispered finally. For a moment, she didn't speak, and Dean expected to see that familiar look of understanding cross her face, just like when they'd had this conversation back in Oregon. 

The look never came. Her hands never came to settle in his short hair, her lips never pressed oh-so-gently against his. She never whispered that it was okay, never stepped into a tight hug. Instead, anger flared across her features, just for a moment. 

"Then help me." She said plainly, as if it was the most simple solution in the world. "Dean, I get what you're trying to do. I get that you're just trying to keep me safe, I know it's all you've ever tried to do but... Things have changed. I don't need you to cover my eyes and pretend that none of this exists any more. I need you to have my back and teach me how to look after myself." 

He stared at her in shock.  _That_  certainly wasn't the response he'd been expecting. At his silence, Cheyenne continued. "You drew this imaginary line in the sand when you told me about your job, trying to keep me out of this life. But let's be honest Dean, you keep pushing that line back so I don't cross it, and it's just putting off the inevitable. I mean, we've always been headed for this, haven't we?"

She paused, searching his expression for any indication that he was going to interrupt her, but when he didn't, she took a step closer, so they were only inches apart. "The Hunt with your Dad... Ana and Jake, Oregon, and now everything with the FBI? How much more is it going to take for you to accept that for better or for worse, I got pushed over that line? Baby, I'm  _in this_  with you now. You can't pretend I'm not anymore, it's not going to keep me safe."

Dean sighed shakily, his hands coming to rest on her hips like he was anchoring himself, keeping her close. She was right, of course she was. As much as he'd tried to pretend otherwise, this was always the way it was going to end up, and he should have known it. He should have known that from the moment he'd told her he hunted ghosts and monsters and she  _hadn't_  thrown him out of her apartment, it was always going to end up like this. 

"I really ruined you." He whispered, bumping her forehead against hers as he spoke, his voice hushed. Cheyenne smiled gently, tilting her head up a little so her lips brushed against his so softly he could barely feel it. 

"Yeah, you did." She agreed. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."


	41. Chapter 41

"You think Sam's still waiting outside?" Dean asked quietly, his fingertips dancing over Cheyenne's shoulder nearly an hour later. The thought of Sam hearing them made her blush a little, and she pressed her face into Dean's chest, giggling. 

"God, I hope not." 

"I've missed this." Dean said after a moment, kissing the top of her head. She tipped her head up to look at him, sharing his smile for a moment as he cupped her jaw and kissed her slowly. "Missed you..."

She'd missed him too. It had only been a few weeks since they'd last had sex, but when Dean had kissed her, wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled her in close, it felt like it had been a lot longer. Now as they laid together underneath cheap, scratchy motel sheets, tangled up together and sharing lazy kisses, Cheyenne could help but laugh. 

"What is it?" He asked quietly, smiling against her lips. 

"This remind you of anything?" She asked. "You, me and a cheap motel?"

It was Dean's turn to laugh as he realised what she was talking back about. The room was uncannily similar to the one he'd been staying in when they'd first met. The room they'd spent their first night together in. "God, that feels like a lifetime ago."

"If you'd told me back in 2003 that the stranger from the library who I had mind-blowingly good sex with was going to turn out to be the best thing to happen to me, I probably would have called you crazy." She murmured, cuddling up to him. 

"I  _am_  mind-blowing." He agreed with a grin, earning himself an eye roll and a gentle slap on the chest. "What? You're the one who said it."

"Don't make me regret it." Cheyenne teased, kissing him again before moving to get out of bed. Dean's arm wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her back towards him, but she swatted at him with a laugh. "I have to pee, Winchester."

Reluctantly, Dean let her go, watching as she walked to the bathroom before sitting up and propping himself against the headboard with a gentle sigh, messing his hair up with one hand as he thought about their next move. He knew Cheyenne was right, knew that he needed to stop trying to pull her back from all of this, but it didn't necessarily make it an easy decision. Helping her learn how to Hunt went against every instinct to protect her, but he knew he'd have to push that anxiety out of his head to keep her safe. 

"Hey..." She'd come out of the bathroom and was standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in nothing but the dark red utility shirt that he'd discarded and left on the floor. "You okay?"

"Absolutely." He smiled gently as she knelt on the bed, crawling up towards him. When she got close enough, hovering over him, Dean wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. Cheyenne laughed, grabbing hold of the headboard to steady herself as Dean leaned up a little to kiss her gently. 

"You sure?" She teased, both her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. "You look a little tense. Maybe I can help you with that..."

Dean groaned low in his throat at that, his grip on her waist tightening as he kissed her slowly. "You think so?"

"I  _know_  so..." She breathed, her lips ghosting over his as she ground her hips down against his. Dean's hands slid up her back slowly until he could hook his fingers under the collar of his utility shirt and pull it down, sliding it off her shoulders and down her arms. Cheyenne tossed the shirt back off the bed and onto the floor again, grinning as she felt Dean's lips against her neck as he pressed lazy kisses against the marks he'd left earlier. 

Dean wrapped his arms around her a little tighter, pulling her flush against his chest so he could roll them onto the bed properly, with her beneath him. Cheyenne grinned up at him, her cheeks a little flushed as she kissed him harder, threading her fingers into the short hair at the back of his head. He groaned into the kiss, nudging his hips up against hers as he reached one hand between them, fingertips ghosting along the skin of her stomach as he reached down. "You good?"

She only grinned and nodded in response, but before Dean could move, they heard a persistent knocking at the door to the motel. "Are you guys okay in there?"

Dean groaned loudly into Cheyenne's neck at the sound of Sam's voice, and she covered her mouth with one hand to try and stifle laughter. "You think he'll go away if I give him a quarter?"

"I doubt it." She giggled, pushing at his shoulders to roll him onto his back before getting out of bed, pulling his shirt on to cover herself up as she went to the door, opening it just a crack to look at Sam on the other side. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey-" He began, pausing when he realised she was only dressed in Dean's shirt, taking in her flushed cheeks and messed up hair. One eyebrow cocked when he saw the guilty expression on Cheyenne's face. "I guess you two made up."

"You could say that." Cheyenne tried to bite back the self-satisfied smirk she could feel forming. She'd caught sight of herself in the dirty bathroom mirror a few minutes earlier, and knew exactly how she looked. It was obvious what had just happened. "What's up, Sam?"

"Wanted to know if you were going to fill us in on the case in town?" Sam cleared his throat, shooting her an uncomfortable smile. "But I can uh... I can come back."

"Going to need a few minutes, Sammy." Dean called from where he was still laying in bed, the sheets covering him in case Sam pushed the door open and poked his head in to look around. 

"Right, yeah." Cheyenne could have sworn that Sam was blushing when he took a step back. "I'm uh... Two doors down. Just knock when you're... Ready."

When Cheyenne closed the door behind him and turned back to the room, Dean was still laying there, grinning up at her expectantly. "Now uh... I think we have a  _not so little_  problem to deal with. I think if we work together we can handle it in like... Five minutes."

Cheyenne laughed, stripping off his utility shirt and tossing it at him before going to her duffel bag and digging out fresh clothes. At Dean's quiet noise of protest, she rolled her eyes. "Bed'll still be here when we're done with Sam, you know."

"Yeah, but we're both naked  _now_ , and I'm..." Dean trailed off, motioning to his crotch while Cheyenne snorted, pulling on her underwear. There were times he was the walking picture of sex - cocky smiles, an alpha-male swagger that let everyone know he owned any room he walked into, and a low drawling voice that made her knees weak. Other times though, he was an idiot. A goofy-smiled, bad-joke-telling, can't-eat-a-doughnut-without-getting-sugar-all-over-him  _idiot_. 

And if she was honest, looking at him now, she preferred the idiot. 

"I'm sure you'll be able to deal with it." She teased, pulling her jeans on and walking over to drop a gentle kiss on his lips. "I have faith in you, baby."

He whined gently against her lips, another noise of protest that made her laugh and push at his shoulders. " _Dean_ , get dressed! If you're still naked when I get out of the bathroom, I'm just going to go see Sam on my own."

Dean watched her go, grinning to himself as he heard the bathroom door click shut behind her before throwing the covers off and looking for his clothes. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

After filling the brothers in on what she knew so far, compiled from what little information Ash had been able to send over and the interviews of family members, Cheyenne and Dean left Sam in the motel with some coffee and takeout food from  _Abby's._  While Sam tried to figure out any more information that they could gather from John's journal and the history of the town, Dean decided it was best to take Cheyenne out on her first Hunting lesson. He'd driven her a few miles out of town and into a nearby field, where he could teach her to shoot in private.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?" She asked with a faint smile, gesturing to the sandbag Dean had propped up against a fence post. He'd spent almost five minutes trying to draw a lopsided smiley face on it before stepping back proudly to examine his handiwork. 

"Ghost. Or... Demon. Or werewolf, or vampire or-"

She cut him off with a curt wave of the hand. "I get it. Something I'm supposed to try and shoot." 

"Exactly." Dean walked up to her and pulled his precious ivory-handled Colt from his back pocket. She'd seen him use it a few times, seen him polishing it even more often. He pressed it into her hands, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as she raised it a little clumsily with one hand, aiming it in the general direction of the sandbag. "How many times have you handled a gun?"

She avoided his gaze, shrugging self-consciously. "Pretty much just... Back in Oregon, when Sam gave me his gun."

Dean clicked his tongue a couple of times, nodding slowly. "So you've... Never fired a gun before."

Cheyenne cast him a sheepish smile, offering another non-committal shrug. Pushing aside the fact that she'd grabbed Sam's gun and walked off into the unknown without having any idea of how to fire it, Dean chuckled, standing behind her, so his back was against her chest. He wrapped his arms around her so he could guide her on how to hold the gun correctly, resting his chin on her shoulder so he could speak quietly into her ear. "Lift it up like this, keep your finger  _off_  the trigger until you're ready to shoot."

"But the safety's off..."

"Doesn't matter." He said gently. "Finger off the trigger, outside the trigger guard. Just like that."

"Am I holding it right?" She asked, turning her head a little to try and look at him. With a smile, Dean took hold of her free hand, bringing it up to support the gun. 

"Keep your grip firm, but not too tight or you'll lose control of the gun." He explained gently. "Now lift it a little, so you can see down the sights. Focus on the target, can you see it clearly?"

"Yep." She murmured. 

"Okay, good." He said, his voice still calm in her ear. "Now, take the safety off, it's the button at the side. When you're ready, squeeze the trigger. There's going to be some recoil, but don't worry about it. Keep a firm grip of the gun, and don't try to fight it."

Cheyenne inhaled shakily before moving her finger off the trigger guard and squeezing the trigger slowly, just as Dean had instructed. She'd heard guns go off before, heard Sam and Dean fire them enough times not to be surprised by it, but the recoil caught her off-guard, even though she'd been warned about it. She yelped, backing up into Dean, who chuckled. His arms wrapped around her waist again, securing her. 

"Told you." He said quietly, kissing her cheek. "It's got a kick to it."

"I missed the target, didn't I?" She asked, not bothering to look properly. Dean raised his head a little to check. Sure enough, there wasn't a scratch on the target. 

"No-one hits the target on their first time" He assured her, stepping back so he could rest on the hood of the Impala, which he'd parked a few feet away. "Practice makes perfect, sweetheart."

Taking that as her cue to continue shooting, Cheyenne raised the gun again with a heavy sigh, aiming at the sandbag again. She emptied another two clips, shooting until her arms ached and her head hurt from the gunfire. Eventually, Dean eased the gun from her hands, putting the safety on and holstering it with a gentle smile. 

"Think that's enough for today." He said quietly, kissing her temple. "You did good, even hit the target a couple of times."

"Yeah, and all it took was three clips." She laughed, shaking her head slowly and taking the spot on the hood of the Impala that he'd vacated. "Let me guess, you can make a perfect shot on the first go?"

"Oh, sweetheart..." Dean pulled the gun back out, cocking it and pointing it at the target. "I can do one better."

Without looking, Dean fired at the sandbag, before putting the safety back on and holstering the weapon again. After a moment, he looked over at the sandbag, and sure enough, when Cheyenne followed his gaze she saw he'd hit the sandbag directly in the centre. While looking at her. 

"That's... Actually scary." She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief as Dean approached her. "You are  _scarily_  good at that."

He shrugged nonchalantly, opening the driver's side door and sliding into his seat. Cheyenne joined him, wriggling across the front bench seat so she could rest her head on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Thank you for this." She said quietly, slipping one arm around his middle. "I know it wasn't easy."

Dean was silent for a moment, gnawing on his lower lip as he started the engine. "I just want you to be safe." He said eventually. "And if that means teaching you everything I know then... I guess I'm just going to have to teach you."

"Well..." She smiled, kissing his cheek gently. "You're a very good teacher."

"I am?"

"Like you said, I even hit the bag a couple of times." She laughed, nuzzling up to him. "I can keep practising at Bobby's, I know he's got a shooting range set up."

Dean settled one arm around her shoulder as he drove out of the field and back onto the road. He could remember his first shooting lesson with John - he'd been six years old. It was early one morning, Sam had been curled up asleep in the backseat on the Impala, and John had driven them out to the middle of no-where, promising Dean some 'quality time together'. 

He'd been excited, practically bouncing in the front seat, chubby little legs swinging as he'd craned his neck out of the window. John had been on a case recently, and Dean had been bugging him almost as soon as he'd returned to the motel, telling him how much he'd missed him, how happy he was to see his father home. So when John had shaken him awake early one morning and assured him they were going to spend the whole day together, Dean had been excited. 

John had pulled up to the field and ushered his eldest son out, double checking that Sam was fast asleep before pressing a pocket pistol into Dean's hands. He'd hated it at first, hated how heavy the gun was in his hands, hated the smell of the gunpowder. But John had wanted him to do it, so he'd fired the gun. Over and over again, under his father's instruction. 

It got easier, with time. Especially as he got older, got a little stronger. It got easier to hold the gun, let alone fire it, and the more times he shot it, the better his aim got. And then eventually, he'd stopped hating it quite as much, even grown to love it over time. Then after a few years, John trusted him enough to look after Sam alone in the motel while he worked cases, and Dean had been grateful for the gun in his hands. He didn't sleep at all that night, just perched on the end of his brother's bed with the pistol pointed at the door, on high alert to protect Sammy - no matter what. 

When they pulled up to the motel Sam let them into the room, which he'd converted into a case study. Cheyenne's notes, interviews and map markings had been plastered up around the walls, and Sam had added a few of his own observsations - some were from John's journal, but others were from the contemporary folklore and the history of the town. 

"So get this." He began, ushering them inside and pointing to the map. "I worked out the routes of the three women, from the interviews Chey conducted. Now, I  _think_  all three of them passed through this spot here."

Sam jabbed at the map, where he'd drawn a circle. It was about eight miles out of town back the way Cheyenne had driven in. "Okay, but Ash sent over the police reports. None of the bodies were ever found, just the cars."

"That's the thing. I think it might be a Vanishing Hitchhiker."

"Vanishing Hitchhiker?" Dean echoed from behind Cheyenne. "I though those were just a story."

"Well, apparantly not." Sam said quietly, leaning against the desk as he looked between the two of them. "It fits, if you think about it. Dusty road, late at night, girls going missing..."

"What's a... Vanishing Hitchhiker?" Cheyenne asked quietly. With a sigh, Dean took his jacket off, tossing it onto the bed with a low groan. 

"Type of spirit. Haunts backroads, kills women and then just," He snapped his fingers for effect, " _Disappears_."

"We've heard stories, but never actually seen one in the flesh." Sam explained. "So what we need to do is find someone who fits the general description of the Vanishing Hitchhiker. Someone who was angry, bitter, probably lonely. And they'd have to have died in the general area. Maybe murdered, but sometimes angry spirits are born out of suicides too."

Cheyenne was approaching the board of notes, nodding her head slowly. "Okay, so one of us could go to the County Clerk's office, find information on a suspect who fits the description and then find the grave."

"You make it sound so simple." Dean chuckled from behind her, one hand resting on her lower back gently. "But yeah, that's pretty much what we've got to do. But the Clerk's office'll be closed tonight, so we can pick up tomorrow."

Cheyenne turned to him, her mouth opening to protest a little. He recognised that look - it was one he'd sported more times than he could count. She was excited, on edge, had adrenaline coursing through her veins and didn't want to leave work on the case until the night. But stopping short of digging up every grave from here to Sioux Falls, there wasn't much the three of them could do without heading to the County Clerk's office. 

That was exactly what he told her, trying to ignore the disappointment on her face when he grabbed his jacket and ushered her out of Sam's room. He assured his younger brother that they'd grab breakfast together in the morning and regroup before starting to work on the case, and all but pushed Cheyenne out of the room, following her back to her own motel room. 

Cheyenne collapsed onto her bed almost as soon as they walked in, her arms aching and her back hurting from the strain of shooting all afternoon. Dean perched on the edge of the bed, kicking off his boots and stripping down into just a t-shirt as he bit back a yawn. As angry as he'd been to find out Cheyenne had managed to run into a case after only four hours on her own, he had to admit he was impressed with her. She wasn't exactly being cautious, but she was doing her best to be careful. She'd researched, studied up on the area almost as soon as she'd figured there was a case, and although she hadn't explicitly asked for backup, she'd made a call to Ellen. More than that, she was willing to learn how to Hunt properly, willing to learn how to shoot and defend herself, which was more than he'd expected. 

 _Tell her that_. He thought bitterly, gnawing on his lower lip. He  _should_  tell her how proud of her he was, he  _should_  encourage her, let her know that he had her back. It was more than he'd gotten out of John after that first shooting lesson twenty years ago. 

Dean rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow as he said her name quietly, laying one gentle hand on her thigh. When he didn't get a response, Dean sat up a little to look at her properly, cocking his head to one side. 

She'd fallen asleep. In only a matter of seconds, almost as soon as her head had hit the pillow, Cheyenne had passed out next to him, her mouth hanging open a little as a snore threatened to escape. Trying not to wake her, Dean curled up beside her on the bed, placing one soft kiss to her shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her waist. 

The pep talk could wait until morning, he decided.


	42. Chapter 42

When Dean woke up the next morning, it was to the faint smell of coconut. It had been three weeks since he and Cheyenne had even seen each other properly, even longer since he'd woken up next to her in bed. Half the time when he and Sam had ended up at Bobby's, it had been at some ungodly hour of the morning, and he'd spent the night on the couch for fear of waking her. It felt like a lifetime since he'd woken up to the smell of her coconut shampoo, and when he inhaled slowly, it was comforting. 

As if on cue, Cheyenne shifted in his arms, murmuring something in her sleep as she rolled over, squashing her face into his shirt. Dean smiled gently, draping his arm back over her side like a blanket as he kissed the top of her head. He wasn't exactly in any hurry to get the day started, especially not if it involved dragging himself out of the warm bed and burning a dead body. 

He already knew how the day was going to go. Cheyenne was going to suggest - no,  _demand_  - that she went up to the County Clerk's office, and he was going to tell her he didn't feel comfortable with her going alone. Sam was going to tell them that he couldn't stay behind to both find and dig up the grave alone, so  _someone_  was going to have to go with him to the Pickstown cemetery to look for the grave. Dean and Cheyenne would argue about who was going to go and who was going to stay, and she'd whine that she didn't want to dig up a grave on her second day Hunting. They'd argue until eventually, Dean would give out and let her head up to the County Clerk's office alone. 

"You awake?" She mumbled, her voice muffled by his shirt. 

"I'm awake." 

She raised her head off his chest a little to look at him, eyes bleary from sleep as she bit back a yawn. "We've got work to do."

"When did you become a morning person?" He asked, watching as she rolled away from him, rubbing her eyes as she got out of bed. Generally speaking, it had always been easier to resurrect the dead than wake her up before eight AM. 

She groaned gently, stumbling into the bathroom and murmuring something under her breath while Dean got up and gave a long, languid stretch, sighing as his aching muscles virtually creaked in protest. From inside the bathroom, Dean heard a quiet 'ouch'. 

"Everything alright?"

"Didn't take my contacts out last night." Cheyenne groaned quietly. 

Dean chuckled quietly, digging through his own duffel bag for clean clothes. Cheyenne hated wearing her glasses - he hadn't even been aware that she wore them for weeks - and wore contacts instead. She thought they made her look like a nerdy teenager, and it hadn't helped when he'd told her she looked adorable in them (he thought it was a compliment, she didn't). The only problem with her contacts was that on more than one occasion she'd passed out while wearing them, and had to spend the next morning hissing in pain as she took them out. He'd grown used to hearing the cursing and swearing, and it served as a faint reminder of much easier times; when all he'd had to worry about was keeping his day job from her, and all she'd had to worry about was exams. 

She emerged from the bathroom after a few minutes, scowling at him, as if he was to blame for her forgetting to remove her contact lenses the night before. Again, it was a look he was familiar with.

"Let me guess; you have to wear your glasses today?"

"Got no choice." She muttered bitterly, tossing her contact lens case into her duffel with a little more aggression than was necessary. "Eyes hurt like shit."

He smiled gently, watching as she got changed and slid her thick glasses on. She turned to him, pointing a threatening finger at him as she walked closer. "If you call me adorable, I swear to God-"

He grabbed her hand, using it to pull her against his chest so that he could look down at her, into eyes that were just a little bit magnified. "You look great, I promise." 

"I look like a fourteen-year-old."

"Quit whining." He chided gently, grinning down at her. "Like you said, we've got work to do."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The conversation over breakfast - in the diner that looked like it hadn't been refurbished since 1979 - went exactly as Dean had assumed it would. He and Cheyenne bickered over their pancakes and coffee about who would go to the County Clerk's office and who would stay behind to go grave-digging while Sam watched. More than once, he tried to interject and offer to go to the Clerk's office instead so that they could stay in Pickstown together, but he was shut down almost immediately and resigned himself to just letting the argument wash over him. The debate carried on over breakfast, only pausing for a few seconds at a time for sips of coffee or bites of pancake, and even then Dean had a habit of arguing with his mouth full. Even after they paid for the food and headed back out to the Impala, they hadn't reached a conclusion. Sam trailed behind them slowly, rolling his eyes every time he heard a sharp ' _Dean_ ' or heard his older brother try to interrupt Cheyenne. The debate had been cute for the first ten minutes - after all, it was still nice to see Dean's protective side from an outsider's perspective - but it had gotten  _very_  boring very quickly. 

"Dean, it's twenty miles, that's it!" Cheyenne protested weakly as he unlocked the Impala. Dean opened the driver's door but didn't climb in, his hand resting on the metal frame as he watched her. As the three of them stood in the parking lot, bracing themselves against the cool breeze, Sam recognised the glint in his brother's eye. He recognised the barely-concealed smirk that he'd seen a million times before, and realised something he  _should_  have noticed when the conversation had started back in the diner when they'd sat down to order. 

He was deliberately winding her up.

He'd  _never_  had any serious intentions to let her stay in Pickstown cemetery to dig up graves all night; he'd never had any intention of forcing her to stay. He was playing Devil's Advocate, forcing her to argue exactly  _why_  she should be allowed to run off on her own. Sam should have recognised it sooner; after all, it was something he'd grown up with. 

" _Dean_." He said sharply, his jaw setting into one hard line as he glowered over at his brother, who grinned openly, realising he'd been caught out. 

"What?" He asked, his voice innocent enough. Sam ignored him, looking over at Cheyenne. Her eyes were flickering between the two of them as she stood beside the Impala in silence, trying to figure out what Sam was so irritated about before realisation blossomed across her face. Slowly, she turned to Dean, realisation giving way to anger. Not that it was the time to point it out, but as Dean stood across the car from them, he realised they were sporting identical facial expressions. 

"You were fucking with me, weren't you?" She said quietly, scowling at him. It would have been a little easier to take her seriously if she hadn't been wearing those thick glasses that she always protested made her look ten years younger. 

Dean cracked a grin, shrugging. "Not  _fucking with you_. Just..."

"He does this." Sam rolled his eyes, throwing open the back door to the Impala and clambering into the backseat, folding his arms. "He thinks it's clever."

"I just wanted to see if you could give me a half-decent reason to let you run off to the County Clerk's office alone." Dean shrugged nonchalantly, sliding into his seat. Cheyenne joined him on the front seat, slamming her door indignantly. Where the debate in the diner had been playful, Sam sensed a full-blown argument on the horizon and braced himself. Dean turned the key in the ignition, and the engine growled to life. He waited for a second, possibly checking how angry Cheyenne actually was, before driving out of the parking lot.

"How about that I'm an  _adult_?" She began, glaring at him. "Or that I'm capable of driving twenty  _god-damned miles_ , or that-"

"Relax." Dean cut across her gently, that same smile from before still toying at his lips. It was a dangerous game he was playing - smiling at Cheyenne like that when she was already annoyed with him. "You're going to the clerk's office, don't worry."

Cheyenne paused mid-sentence, closing her mouth before opening it again, slowly this time. She couldn't think of how to respond other than 'huh?', so she just closed her mouth again, waiting for Dean to continue.

"You said you wanted me to teach you how to Hunt, right?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she didn't interrupt him, and Dean continued. "Well me and Sammy? We can't go two hours without getting in each other's faces about  _something_ , but that's just how it is. Right, Sam?"

That Sam could agree on. "Right."

"You want to Hunt with us; you're going to have to learn to  _argue_  with us." Dean shot her a grin as they sped down the road towards the motel. It was something like a five-minute walk, but he'd insisted - like always - on driving. "I know it feels like your biggest worry is gonna be what's out  _there_ , but half the time it ain't. You gotta learn to live out of your car and have the same argument four hundred times with me and the Sasquatch over there." He jerked his thumb in Sam's general direction, ignoring his faint noise of protest.

"You wound me up on purpose to prove a point?" She cocked an eyebrow, glancing over at Sam in the back seat to check that she'd reached the right conclusion. He gave her a curt nod to assure her that she was on the right track, and she turned to look back at Dean, who didn't seem to see a flaw in his logic. 

"Yeah."

"You pissed me off deliberately to prove that you're an asshole?"

His confident grin faltered somewhat as they pulled into the motel parking lot, coming to a stop beside Cheyenne's pickup. "I didn't say..."

"Baby..." Cheyenne shook her head in disbelief, throwing the passenger door open. "I already knew  _that_."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The County Clerk's office had been more than happy to assist an off-duty FBI officer who was taking time out of her week off to lend a hand on the recent spate of missing girls. All Cheyenne had to do when she eventually showed up was wave her badge around, make up a story about passing through town on the way to an Uncle's house, and a box of files had been dumped in front of her. After checking her credentials with 'Special Agent Willis,' Cheyenne had been given free roam of the files, so she had access to older cases that might help them find their Vanishing Hitchhiker.

Cheyenne's degree had been in Philosophy, so she'd graduated  _summa cum laude_  with one marketable skill - leafing through dusty old documents for singular lines of relevant information. There was something oddly comforting about settling down in the corner of a dark room with dozens of boxes of files for a few hours, just reading through case files to try and compile a list of likely suspects.

She'd been at the Clerk's office for four hours when she called Sam the first time. So far she had eight names, but Sam crossed five of them off the list immediately because they had no notable connection to the road the missing women's cars were found on. Another two were crossed off the list because they'd been cremated - that didn't necessarily mean that they  _definitely_  weren't murdering women along the highway, but it made it significantly less likely. Sam reminded her that they weren't just looking for bitter scumbags who'd died bloody - if everyone like that became a ghost he and Dean would never get a day off. Their spirit likely had some kind of connection to the stretch of road the women's cars were found on. 

The next time she called, almost three hours later, she had another list of names. Sam put her on speakerphone, and with Dean's help, the three of them went through the list, eliminating anyone who didn't seem as though they could be a suspect. She trusted their instincts, and when they told her to cross someone off the list, she did so without questioning them. Eventually, she was left with two names; George Adams and Thomas Madison. Cheyenne opted to find out as much as she could about George Adams while Sam offered to research Thomas Madison; dividing up the work was sure to make it go faster. 

After she hung up on the brothers, Cheyenne started trawling through the county files on George Adams and was surprised by what she found. She'd expected someone angry - maybe an ex-convict, or a guy with an assault list a mile long. When George Adams' file came out though, it was surprisingly vanilla. 

He was born in 1928 in Wagner, a town about fifteen minutes from Pickstown. According to his file he'd left school early due to what appeared to be an intellectual disability, and from there he'd picked up odd jobs around town, mostly labouring in backyards or down by the river with fishermen. Other than one dark spot on his criminal record - drunk and disorderly in a public place - he didn't have any criminal history, and he certainly didn't seem like their angry, bitter spirit. 

Cheyenne sighed, flipping through his file until she got to his photograph, clipped to some paperwork at the back of the manilla folder. Sam had warned her to be on the lookout for someone violent, malevolent - hell, downright evil. This man wasn't evil. 

She'd always been a firm believer in the old adage that the eyes were the windows to the soul; Sam's eyes were just as warm and inviting as he was, just as gentle and soft. John's eyes had been the opposite - cold and downright terrifying at times. The last time Cheyenne had seen him though, when she'd passed him in the hospital room minutes before he'd died there had been a warmth that caught her off guard, a sense of understanding that still sent a shiver down her spine when she thought about it.

And Dean's eyes? They were just like him - mesmerising in every way. 

George Adams didn't have the eyes of a killer in his photograph. The picture was grainy and faded with age - the date on the back was the 22nd of Feburary 1962 - but it gave her a clear enough indication of the man in front of the camera. He was large, swamping the frame of the photo even from where he was sat down to have his picture taken. Huge hands were folded neatly in his lap, clutching tightly at a flat cap as if it were a security blanket, thick digits curling into the fabric and crumpling it. As Cheyenne studied the photo, she looked up into the man's eyes and was surprised by just how  _sad_  they seemed. He could hardly even look at the camera, his head craned a little to the side as if he was trying to avoid being photographed, and even though he was looking ahead (probably because he'd been instructed to) his eyes were almost -  _almost_  - downturned, like he was ashamed of something. 

Cheyenne could almost feel her heart break when she put the photograph down gently, tucking it back behind a few more pieces of paper while she continued researching. She was positive George Adams wasn't a killer, but she'd promised Sam and Dean she'd help them find the spirit responsible for the disappearences, so she wasn't going anywhere. 

As she went through his death records, Cheyenne sucked in a deep breath through her teeth, eyebrows shooting for her hairline as she reached blindly for her phone. Sam had asked for evidence of someone being linked to the road the girls had gone missing on, and as she'd just found, George Adams had a  _very_  strong link. 

Before her fingers could curl around her phone, it started ringing insistenly, alerting her to an incoming call from Sam. She didn't even get the chance to say hello after picking up the call. 

"So get this." Sam said excitedly. "Thomas Madison was a messed up guy. I mean  _really_  messed up. Guy had a ton of convinctions  _and_  allegations for rape, assault and murder. He never served time for half of them, but they're still listed on his file."

From somewhere in the background, Cheyenne heard Dean's voice. "Dude was a fucking  _scumbag_."

"Sam that's great-" She tried to interrupt, but he cut her off, still talking quickly.

"But guess where seven of his assault charges apparently happened?" He didn't wait for her to guess, even though it was obvious. "The same stretch of road that the missing cars were found on. He's got to be our spirit." 

"Sam that's great, but you might be wrong." She said quietly, pushing the papers back a little so she could look at George Adams' picture again. "Because George Adams' body was  _found_  on that road when he died in a hit and run in 1967."

There was a slight pause, and for a moment she thought the line had cut out. "Sam?"

"You think he might be the spirit?" Dean asked, his voice a little louder now. Sam must have put her on speakerphone. "He fit the description?"

"Well not really..." She began, sighing heavily. "But not all spirits are evil, right?"

"Chey..." She heard Dean chuckle. " _This_  spirit has been making girls do the vanishing act up and down that highway. Seems pretty evil to me."

At any other point, she would have snapped at his condescending tone, but his comment from earlier played back in her head and she stopped herself, inhaling slowly before speaking. "Sam, when we tried to communicate with Dean in the hospital using the Ouija Board-"

Dean interrupted her. "You guys used a  _Ouija Board_?"

"Dean,  _shut up_." Sam snapped. "Chey?"

She carried on. "When we were setting up the board you told me that not all malevolent spirits start out evil, right? You said some of them start out lost or confused, or maybe even scared. But as time goes on, when they're trapped in between reality and whatever's next, they start to get frustrated or even angry, and they lash out." 

Cheyenne hesitated for a moment, doubting herself for a split second. "Right?"

"No, that's right." He assured her, almost sounding impressed. "How long did you say he'd been dead for?"

She double checked the records. "He died in 1967."

"Nearly forty years... Sounds like long enough for a spirit to turn nasty." Sam admitted. 

Dean still wasn't convinced. "Guys, we have a complete scumbag here who just about beat the shit out of everything from here to Sioux Falls, who we know preyed on people along a dark road where he didn't think anyone would find him.  _And_  we've got a Vanishing Hitchhiker, who rips women out of their cars along the  _same_  dark road, and we're seriously debating if he's our guy?"

"It's worth considering." Sam pointed out. "If we aren't sure, it could be worth digging up both bodies, torching them both."

" _Both_? You want to dig up two graves tonight?"

"Well it's better to be safe than sorry, Dean."

Cheyenne sighed heavily, bringing the phone away from her ear. She'd listened to Sam and Dean bicker enough to know when they were starting another Winchester spat, and she knew better than to hang onto a phone call where she wasn't going to be listened to. Instead, she hung up the phone. 

She stared down at the photo of George Adams, into those dark, impossibly sad eyes. He still didn't seem like a killer, but there was something about the death record that was bugging her. Her instincts were telling her not to get back in her car and drive to Pickstown cemetery.

With a gentle groan, Cheyenne picked up the death file for George Adams, rocking back in her chair as she kicked her legs up onto the table, crossing her ankles. "Okay George, it's just you and me now buddy..."


	43. Chapter 43

 

Cheyenne decided to leave the brothers to their grave digging while she re-read George Adams' file, searching for something - anything - that could give her a clearer indication of whether or not he was the spirit. 

She found it in his death record. 

George had been hit by a car on the road out of town; his body was reportedly dragged for 'fifty or sixty feet' under the wheels before the driver had managed to bring the car to a stop. No car had been found at the scene when the police had arrived, but a call from a payphone had alerted the authorities to the accident. The call had been made by a woman named Abigail Smith, who'd said that she'd witnessed the crash, and had driven along to the nearest payphone to call the police. Oddly enough though, when Cheyenne looked at her official witness statement, she said that she couldn't recall the kind of car that had hit George Adams, nor could she remember the colour of it. Luckily for Cheyenne though, Abigail still lived in the area, and her address was listed on her file. 

After packing up the files and thanking the assistant behind the desk, Cheyenne left Dean a voicemail to tell him that she wasn't headed back to Pickstown just yet and that she was going to interview Abigail Smith before meeting up with them. She just wanted to make sure they were burning the right body, she assured him. 

The sun was already starting to set by the time Cheyenne pulled up to Abigail's house, and when she stepped out of the car, she shivered a little against the cold wind. In only a few hours the temperature had dropped dramatically, and even inside her coat, Cheyenne could feel the chill. 

Abigail's house was nice, if old. It was a small cottage on the edge of town, only a mile or so from the County Clerk's office in Lake Andes. The garden outside was neat, the grass freshly cut, and the little bushels of pink flowers that lined the path to the front door reminded Cheyenne of her Nana's house. As she knocked on the door to the house, Cheyenne cast another look around the house, wondering for a moment if it was even worth talking to Abigail. After all - the accident had happened nearly forty years earlier when she'd been just twenty-five - there was a chance she wouldn't even be able to remember what happened clearly. 

After a few moments of silence the front door opened, just a crack. Just enough for a woman to peer out onto the porch and see Cheyenne. "Who are you?"

"Abigail Smith?" She asked, suddenly uncertain. Perhaps this had been a mistake; perhaps she should just call it a day and meet the boys. 

"Yes." The woman behind the door answered. "I'm not buying anything, I'm sorry."

"That's fine," Cheyenne said quickly, pulling out the ID card she'd stashed in her back pocket. As much fun as it had been to wave around an FBI badge and have people dump any information that she wanted in front of her, for the interview with Abigail Smith she'd opted for a softer approach. "Tamara Hobbes, I'm with the Wagner Post. I've got a few questions for you, involving the death of George Adams in 1967."

Through the crack in the door, Cheyenne saw the older woman's eyes widen for a split second before she started making excuses. "I don't know anything about that."

Abigail tried to slam the door in her face, but Cheyenne blocked it easily by slapping her palm against the wood, bracing herself against it. "Please, Abigail. It's important. More important than you might think."

"I already told the police everything I saw!"

"I don't think you did." Cheyenne said calmly. "I'm not a cop; I'm not here to throw you into handcuffs. I just want to know what happened to George Adams that night."

For a few moments, Abigail didn't say anything. She didn't try to slam the door shut either though, which Cheyenne took to be a good thing. "Why do you want to know about him?"

"I'm writing an article as a favour to his family." Cheyenne lied. "They didn't think his death got the coverage it deserved. They just don't want him to be forgotten, so I'm doing them a personal favour."

"Didn't think George had any family left." 

"An Aunt in Sioux Falls." She lied, keeping her voice as gentle and even as possible - she didn't want to frighten Abigail into slamming the door shut again. "Can I come in, ask you a few questions?"

Abigail waited, just for a few seconds, before slowly pulling the door open and looking up at Cheyenne. She was tiny - barely even five feet tall, with cropped grey hair and dark, beady eyes that never seemed to settle on one spot for more than a few seconds. The two women stared at each other for another second, before Abigail finally stepped back to invite Cheyenne inside, closing the door behind her. 

"So what did you want to know about that night?" Abigail asked, leading her into a front room that didn't look like it had been redecorated since the early seventies. Cheyenne cast the room an uncertain glance, taking in the gaudy lime and the bright, clashing painting in the corner before perching on the faded, mossy coloured couch. 

"Do you know what George was doing out on that road? I mean it was late at night, it must've been cold."

Abigail eased herself into the armchair across the coffee table from Cheyenne, shrugging. "George was... Slow. Always wandering around in the middle of the night; guess he just liked walkin'. Problem was he was so God-Damnned stupid he never realised how far he'd walked, so he always ended up miles out of town, tryin' to hitch a ride back home."

"He was out there a lot?" Cheyenne asked quietly, frowning. 

"Sure was. Sometimes people would stop and give him a lift back, but most times he'd have to make his own way home. It was only a few miles, not that big of a deal."

Had Abigail been looking at Cheyenne she would have noticed the muscle that jumped in her jaw before she spoke. "The crash happened in November. It would have been freezing."

The older woman shrugged again listlessly, offering Cheyenne an expression that she knew meant 'what do you want me to do'. 

"I read your police statement," She commented, watching as Abigail leaned forwards in her chair to the pack of Marlboro Reds on the coffee table. "You said you couldn't recall the kind of car that hit George."

Abigail paused as she reached for her cigarettes, her eyes slowly meeting Cheyenne's gaze. For a moment, an expression she couldn't quite place flickered across her face, but then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. She snatched the pack of cigarettes up and pulled one out, securing it between her teeth as she produced a lighter from her pocket. "You mind if I smoke?"

"It's your house." Cheyenne pointed out, even though she wished that the older woman wouldn't. It already stank like stale cigarettes in the room, and she hadn't noticed an open window when she'd sat down. 

Abigail took the invitation, lighting the cigarette and inhaling slowly as she observed the younger woman across from her. "I don't know much about cars."

"Surely you'd notice whether it was a small car or a big one, right? Whether it was a truck, or a convertible or a muscle car or-"

"I told you," She interrupted sharply, tossing the lighter down on the coffee table between them. "Just like I told the police. I don't know what kind of a car it was."

Cheyenne was already suspicious, but the cold tone of Abigail's voice set her on edge. She leaned forward calmly, her elbows resting on her knees and her hands lacing together loosely. "I don't know much about cars either, but I know that if I'd just watched a man get hit by one, I'd make damn sure I got a good look at it before it drove off so I could tell the cops what to look for."

For a few seconds, no-one spoke. Abigail exhaled slowly, blowing a thin plume of cigarette smoke in Cheyenne's direction and watching lazily as it dissipated into the air between them. "I don't appreciate your tone."

"I don't care."

The older woman leaned forwards, eyeing Cheyenne coldly. For the first time since she'd walked in, Abigail's eyes settled on her for more than a few seconds, dark eyes boring into her. "I told you already. It was late at night, and it was dark. I don't  _know_  what kind of car killed him."

"You're lying," Cheyenne whispered, cocking an eyebrow. Most people couldn't make eye contact when they lied, but Abigail seemed to be the opposite. Since they'd walked into the house, those dark eyes had flickered around the room, dancing from surface to surface without ever really seeming to look properly. When she talked about George Adams though, she looked directly at Cheyenne, spoke calmly like she was an actor reciting lines she'd rehearsed for forty years. 

Abigail blew out another long puff of smoke, clicking her tongue. "I ain't."

"You want to know what I think?"

It was clear that she didn't, but Cheyenne continued anyway. "I don't think you watched another car hit George Adams that night. I think  _you_  hit him and drove off, left him for dead. Then I think you felt guilty, called the cops and made up a story about a hit and run. It was 1967, George was  _'slow'_ , there wouldn't have been a big investigation. Probably wasn't that hard to convince the cops that you weren't the one that killed him. Right?"

There was a heavy silence following Cheyenne's words, and she could have sworn that when Abigail tapped her cigarette against the ashtray her hand trembled, just a little. She certainly didn't look as calm as she had done a few moments earlier. "You can't... You can't come into my home and  _accuse me_  of that."

Cheyenne pulled the picture she'd taken from George's file out of her jacket pocket and stood up, crossing the room to shove the photograph under Abigail's nose. The older woman jerked backwards instinctively, the still-lit cigarette nearly flying out of her hand as she struggled away from Cheyenne, trying to turn away from crumpled, faded picture. 

"He was just trying to get home, wasn't he Abigail?" She whispered. "Maybe you didn't see him, maybe you saw him but it was too late... Either way, that didn't matter because as soon as you realised what you'd done you  _ran_ , didn't you?"

"Stop it." She whispered, her voice shaking a little. Cheyenne moved a little closer, until she was inches from the older woman's face, practically breathing in the cigarette fumes. 

"Look at that picture and tell me you had nothing to do with what happened to George." She hissed, bringing the picture back up so it was within Abigail's line of sight. "Look at his face and then try to lie to me again."

"I was scared!" Abigail screamed, launching herself out of the chair and across the room from Cheyenne. "I was twenty-five, it was the middle of the night! What was I supposed to do?!"

Cheyenne reeled back a little, swaying on the spot for a moment as she listened to the confession. Abigail stared at her in horror, gripping the back of the couch as she brought her other hand to her mouth, covering it as she tried to hold back a broken sob, tears welling in her dark eyes. For a second, a pang of guilt hit Cheyenne as she looked at the old woman, looked at the guilt that had flooded over her. She'd killed a man, lied about his death, and had to live with that knowledge for nearly forty years.

"How long did you wait before you called the cops?" She asked finally, her voice gentle. That was the marker of Abigail's guilt - the time it had taken her to realise what she'd done before she called the police. The time she'd waited before granting George the dignity he deserved. 

She could see the remorse in those eyes before Abigail even spoke. It took a second, but she sank down onto the couch slowly, her hands shaking as she covered her face, unable to look Cheyenne in the eye any longer. 

"Two hours."

In an instant, like a switch had been flipped inside her, what little sympathy she felt for the elderly woman vanished. She'd waited for two hours before telling someone that George had been hit by a car. His body had laid there on the side of the road for  _two hours_  without the dignity of even a sheet to cover him. Cheyenne had read the police report - death hadn't been instant, so there was no telling how long he'd laid there, unable to move or speak as he'd watched Abigail's taillights disappear down the road, leaving him for dead. 

"Do you feel guilty?" She asked finally, looking down at the photograph in her hands. Abigail raised her head slowly, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she nodded, choking on her words. 

"Yes. God, yes."

Ordinarily, Cheyenne would have comforted her. Maybe she would have assured her that it was okay, she'd made a mistake, the important thing was that she'd told the police at all, hadn't just left his body there all night. But she wasn't in a forgiving mood, so instead, as she crumpled the photo back into her jacket pocket and turned for the door, she left Abigail with one final word. 

"Good."

The door slammed behind her on the way out. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cheyenne called Dean almost as soon as she was back in the car, leaving him a voicemail that she was almost positive that George Adams was their spirit, and informing him that she was coming back to Pickstown as quickly as she could. 

It was dark by the time she left Abigail's house, and the drive back to Pickstown was uneventful. She'd gotten used to driving along dark, rural roads with only the radio for company. After all; who needed someone riding shotgun when you could sing along to Bon Jovi at the top of your lungs?

She was about ten miles from Pickstown when her phone rang from the passenger seat where she'd tossed it. It was Dean, probably calling about the case. "Hey, what's up?"

"Just torched Thomas Madison's bones." He informed her, giving a long sigh. "How was the interview?"

"Didn't you check your voicemail?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I still don't think we should rule George Adams out."

"Yeah, yeah." He said, his voice annoyingly dismissive. "Sammy agrees with you, so he's already found Adams' grave and he's starting to dig it up."

In the background, Cheyenne heard Sam's voice. "You could  _help_ , you know."

Dean shushed him sharply. "I'm on the phone."

Sam just grunted something in response but didn't interrupt again, so Dean started talking into the phone again. "What did you find out from the old woman?"

"Turns out she hit him with her car that night." Cheyenne murmured, frowning. "Left him for dead, didn't call the cops for two hours. He didn't stand a chance..."

"You sound like you feel sorry for him." Dean pointed out. 

"I do, a little."

"Even if he's our killer?"

Cheyenne gave a heavy sigh, thinking about it for a moment before answering him. "Yeah, Dean. Even if he's the killer." 

"You think our gentle giant has a soft spot?" He chuckled. Again, it was a little condescending, and Cheyenne felt a muscle jump in her jaw. She decided not to bother picking him up on it though, she was too tired to snap at him. 

Instead, she just gave a non-committal grunt, trying to focus on the road ahead. Her headlights bounced over the worn road, and as she sped towards Pickstown, she caught glimpses of wild animals ducking into the fields either side of her, an attempt to avoid her noisy pickup. As she drove, Cheyenne realised her radio was crackling loudly, distorting her music until it faded into white noise entirely. 

"Crap..." She groaned, trapping her cell phone between her ear and shoulder as she reached over to turn it down. The radio signal hadn't been  _that_ bad on her way out of town earlier on, so she wasn't sure why it had suddenly crapped out. 

"Chey..." She heard Dean's voice over the phone, but it sounded different now - distant, almost like he was talking through a thick pane of glass. "Can... Hear me? You..."

His voice crackled out, just like the radio until it had faded into nothing. Confused, Cheyenne slowed her car and pulled up to the side of the road to check her reception. The signal wasn't  _great_ , but it wasn't bad enough for the call to drop out like that. 

"That can't be good." Cheyenne whispered, snapping her phone closed as she looked out at the road ahead. She was about to put her foot back on the gas when she saw him, maybe fifteen feet away from her in the middle of the road. 

Her headlights barely illuminated him at that distance, but she'd looked at his photograph enough times in the past few hours to recognise him instantly. It was George Adams - or the spirit of him at least. 

In an instant, fear closed up Cheyenne's throat. Her last two run-ins with spirits hadn't exactly ended well for her, and she was out here nearly ten miles from town, exposed and isolated. She could only hope that the boys could dig up the body and burn the bones before things turned sour.

For a few moments, George didn't move and neither did she. The suspense seemed worse than him actually attacking her, and as Cheyenne sat in the front seat, she prayed for something - anything - to happen. 

There was a tire iron (provided by Dean) tucked between the seat and the driver's door, and as she kept her eyes on George, Cheyenne reached down with one hand to pick it up, her hand closing around the icy metal. George still hadn't moved from his spot across the dark road, so against her better judgement, Cheyenne opened her door and stepped out into the cold night. 

"George?" 

Her voice came out a little higher than she'd meant to, wavering and betraying her fear. As she walked around the front of her car to step in front of her headlights, Cheyenne gripped the tire iron a little tighter, just in case he charged at her. He didn't move though, just watched her with those same sad brown eyes she'd seen in the photograph. 

"George Adams, right?"

A flash of recognition spread across his face for a second as he observed her, cocking his head to one side in a way that reminded her of a child. Even though it was obvious he was the spirit they were looking for - and therefore he was the spirit that had killed those three girls - he still didn't look much like a killer to her. After a beat of silence, he took a slow step forwards, so that he was completely in the light and she could see him properly. 

He was dressed in denim overalls and a thick woollen shirt - not entirely unlike how she imagined Lennie from  _Of Mice and Men_ to have dressed. Just like in the photograph she had tucked into her jacket pocket, he was clasping a flat cap between two huge hands, twisting it nervously as he looked over at her, his mouth opening a little as he tried to speak. 

"It's okay." She said soothingly, feeling her heartbeat slow a little as the sense of immediate danger faded. 

"Cold." He finally settled on, frowning at her. "It's cold..."

He was right about that. Cheyenne was resisting the urge to shiver inside her thick coat - she couldn't imagine how cold it must have been for him the night Abigail had killed him. Before she could answer him though, she heard the low rumble of a familiar engine, and in the distance, she saw a pair of headlights approaching rapidly. It was the Impala. 

George had noticed the car too because he swung around to look at it, twisting the grey cap in his hands a little more insistently as a noise that she could have  _sworn_ was a whine escaped his lips. He wasn't just nervous any more - as the Impala screeched to a halt a few feet from them and Dean leapt out, shotgun in hand, Cheyenne could see he was  _terrified_. 

"Dean, stop!" She screamed before he could pull the trigger. "Don't shoot him!"

He did as he was told, but didn't lower his shotgun, peeking at her over it instead to check that she was alright. "Are you serious? This is the guy that's been killing girls all month, right?"

George's thick fingers knotted into the grey cap as he looked desperately between two of them, his gaze finally settling on Cheyenne. That fear was still painfully obvious when he looked her in the eyes, and as he stumbled towards her, she could see his chest rise and fall rapidly. Maybe this was what set him off? Maybe the fear was what triggered him to attack?

"Hey!" Dean yelled sharply, taking another step toward George, shotgun still held high. "Take one more step and I'll shoot!"

The huge man froze on the spot, craning his head to look at Dean quickly. He almost reminded her of a wild animal - a deer or a rabbit - with how skittish he was. His breathing was even faster now, shallow and rapid like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. 

On a hunch, Cheyenne put her tire iron down slowly on the bonnet of her pickup, the clink of metal on metal drawing George's attention once more. When she spoke, she tried to keep her voice as steady and calm as possible. "Dean put your gun down."

"Are you  _crazy_?"

"Dean," She hissed, glancing at him sharply before looking back at George. "Do it. You're scaring him."

He wanted to argue, she knew it. The idea of dropping his only weapon in the face of a spirit  _was_ a crazy idea, but at her insistence he lowered it onto the tarmac slowly, dropping into a crouch so that he wouldn't have to move very far to pick it up again if he had to. 

Cheyenne could turn her attention back to the terrified man in front of her, keeping her voice as gentle and soothing as possible. "You don't have to hurt me, George. I know you don't want to hurt me, do you?"

He shook his head rapidly, eyes wide like a scared child. 

"Exactly," She soothed. "You just wanted to get home, right? You just wanted a ride."

Dean looked between the two of them, surprised to see that her tactic actually seemed to be working. George's breathing had slowed until it was almost normal again, Cheyenne's voice seemed to be calming him down. She still looked just as scared as when he'd pulled up, but she was keeping it together well enough to talk to the huge man, keeping her voice gentle. 

"What Abigail did to you was awful." Her voice cracked with emotion when she spoke. "It truly was, and I'm  _so_ sorry. And I know how scared you must have been when she left you by the side of the road, and I know how scared you are right now, but hurting those girls wasn't the answer. Hurting  _us_ isn't the answer. Do you understand that?"

"They wouldn't help me." He whispered, his low voice breaking with remorse. It was jarring for Dean to see - no ghost he'd ever met actually seemed to  _regret_ hurting the people that they'd gone after. "None of them helped me."

He was talking about the three girls, Cheyenne realised. He must have appeared on the side of the road, just as scared and lost as the night in 1967, and they must have just driven past him - probably terrified by the sight of a strange hitchhiker begging for a ride. That must have been why he attacked them - the desperation and fear curdling and giving way to spiritual rage. 

Maybe that was the key. Maybe that was how she and Dean got out of this without setting him off. "Do you want to go home, George?"

He nodded quickly, a glimmer of child-like enthusiasm crossing his features. "Yes please."

"Okay," She whispered, giving Dean a quick nod to assure him she was alright before stretching out her hand. "I'll tell you what we're going to do then. You and me, we're going to get into my truck, and I'm going to drive you home. No-one's going to hurt you. Would you like that?"

He nodded again, finally letting go of the flat cap with one hand to accept her outstretched hand, swallowing uncertainly as his fingertips grazed hers. His skin was icy cold to the touch, but Cheyenne resisted the urge to shiver. Instead, she slowly backed up towards her truck, leading him to the passenger's door as she talked soothingly, assuring him that everything was going to be okay. Dean looked on, stunned into silence at the sight of a spirit not only communicating with a person but willingly accepting their help without attacking. 

Cheyenne opened the passenger's door with a  _click_ , glancing behind George to check that Dean hadn't moved from where he was crouched by the Impala. Sure enough, he was frozen in place, mouth hanging open a little bit. She shot him another quick smile before looking over at George, who was staring at her in confusion. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't respond. Didn't have the time to, not as she saw the familiar glimmer of flames around his middle, quickly starting to consume him from the inside out. He cried out desperately, grabbing at her hands in fear as he stumbled forwards, before crumbling to dust in her hands. For a moment, Cheyenne stared at the empty spot in front of her in shock, her heart pounding painfully quickly in her chest. 

"You alright?"

She turned on the spot at the sound of Dean's voice only a few feet behind her. "Sam... Burned his bones."

"Yeah." He nodded slowly in agreement, glancing over her shoulder at the spot George had occupied only a few seconds earlier. "When the phone cut out I figured we'd burned the wrong bones. Told Sam to dig as quickly as he could while I got over here to help you. Looks like you handled yourself pretty well though."

She nodded dumbly, sinking into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her tightly, grateful for his warmth and even more grateful for his soothing voice. When she closed her eyes, Cheyenne saw George's face, terrified and hopeless as he crumbled into ash at her feet, and she turned her face into Dean's shirt, frowning. Burning his bones had been the right thing to do, but it didn't make it any easier to watch.


	44. Chapter 44

She helped Sam and Dean fill in the grave when they returned to the cemetery half an hour later, and while they shovelleddirt into the grave she refused to speak, except to assure Sam that she'd escaped her latest encounter with a spirit unscathed. Dean shot her concerned glances every ten seconds that he thought she couldn't see, but she ignored him. She wasn't in the mood to shoot the breeze, or whatever the fuck it was they did when they were desecrating a grave. 

When they finished filling in George Adams' grave Sam and Dean offered to put the shovels back in the trunk of the Impala, but Cheyenne hung back, rooted in place. The headstone was worn, weathered and covered in moss from the years it had stood as a marker for his body. 

Cheyenne had been left with an uncomfortable number of questions after they'd burned his body. Why was he left to wander the roads alone at night in the first place? Didn't he have a family who cared enough to push for a proper investigation after he'd died? Did anyone mourn him? Did anyone other than Abigail remember him?

"How're you holding up?" She heard Sam's gentle voice behind her, and turned her head to look at him as he joined her at the foot of the grave. A few feet away, beyond the headlights of her pickup and the Impala, Cheyenne could see Dean hanging around by the trunk of his car, trying to listen in without making it too obvious. He must have sent Sam to handle the sympathetic questions on his behalf. 

"Do you think anyone cared that he died?" She whispered, looking down at the crumpled picture of George Adams, down into those deeply sad eyes. 

"You do."

"That's not what I meant." She pointed out quietly, sighing. "This guy wasn't evil, Sam. I mean, when I saw Eloise she was... Cold. Violent. The only thing she wanted to do was kill me, but with this guy? He was... He was scared. He was lost, he was confused. I don't think he meant to hurt any of those girls. He didn't deserve this."

"It's not quite as cut and dry as Dean made out, is it?" 

"No." She frowned, shaking her head slowly as she looked down at the worn out headstone. She hadn't felt any remorse when Dean had burned the bracelet Eloise had been attached to, and she'd felt  _glad_  when McGinley had disappeared in front of her eyes, but watching this time had felt... Different.

"We did the right thing." Sam assured her, his voice gentle. Cheyenne felt a hand on the small of her back, and a moment later Dean appeared beside her. 

"Did we?" She asked quietly, still staring down at the picture. "I... I talked to him, I  _communicated_  with him, maybe we could've-"

"It was the right thing to do. If he'd stayed around, he would have just gotten worse. Would have turned out like Eloise and the others."

"What do you want to do with that?" Dean asked, motioning towards the photograph in her hands. She'd considered burying it in the grave with the burned remains but had decided against it eventually, tucking it back into her pocket for safekeeping while they'd filled the dirt back in and packed it down as neatly as possible. 

"I'm going to keep it." She said quietly, thumbing the frayed edges gently as she tucked it into the inside pocket of her jacket, pulling the zipper up to her chest and folding her arms. "Someone should remember him."

She kept her eyes trained on the headstone, but to her left, she heard Sam's footsteps as he headed back towards the Impala, fallen leaves and twigs crunching under his feet. She felt Dean's lips press gently to her temple, and she leaned into his touch, thankful for the feeling of his hand against her hip, pulling her close to the warmth of his body. 

Behind them, Cheyenne heard the rumble of the Impala's engine - Dean must've told Sam to go to the motel ahead of them while he stayed with her. The headlights swung out of view as the Impala drove off, the low growl fading into the distance until it had all but disappeared. It was only then that Dean spoke. 

"You did good tonight."

She scoffed, shaking her head disparagingly. "I didn't do anything."

"You figured out it was this guy and not Madison we should've dug up." He pointed out. "Hell, you're the one that found out there was a case here in the first place." 

"I just feel like I could've done more." She whispered, her voice wavering a little as she spoke. "Is it always this hard?"

Dean pulled her against his broad chest, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug as he rested his chin on the top of her head, frowning. He knew that sometimes Sam struggled with the idea of labelling everything they Hunted as evil, but he hadn't realisedCheyenne would struggle so much with this particular job. 

"No." He said finally. "But most of the time we're putting down evil, not... This."

"I think I'd rather do that." Cheyenne admitted, her voice muffled by his shirt. "He just looked so  _scared_ , Dean..."

"I know, sweetheart." He whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I know."

They stood there for another few minutes, huddled together until Dean couldn't ignore her shivering for much longer. Eventually he started trying to usher her back into the car, but she told him to go on ahead. She'd be there in a minute. 

He considered arguing with her, just for a second but ultimately thought better of it, trudging back to her pickup alone and disappearing into the front seat, leaving her standing by the headstone. She'd known from the start that Hunting wasn't going to be easy, but she'd never figured one of the hard parts about it would be feeling sorry for the man whose bones she burned. 

A heavy sigh left her lips as her breath fogged into a pale cloud in front of her. She took a step closer, letting her fingertips graze the cold granite of George Adams' headstone. He'd been an innocent victim of a stupid accident forty years ago, left to die on the side of the road as if no-one even cared, and then to add insult to injury, he'd had to spend decades wandering the highway, begging for a ride. Forty years trapped on that stretch of highway, just as confused and scared as the first night. It wasn't fair. 

"I hope you're at peace now." She whispered, pressing her ice cold fingertips against her lips before dropping them back down against the headstone. "I really do."

Dean was waiting patiently for her in the driver's seat of her pickup, blasting the radiator to try and warm himself up. She slid into the front seat wordlessly, giving him a curt nod to tell him it was okay to drive off. He didn't say anything, but once he'd pulled out of the cemetery and was back on the road to town his hand came to rest on her thigh gently, not entirely unlike a security blanket. 

"Dean," She began quietly, still staring at the dark road ahead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance over at her, waiting for her to continue. "Next time we do this don't dismiss me."

He didn't need to ask for clarification, didn't ask what she was talking about. She'd tried to tell him about George Adams hours earlier, and he'd just ignored her. He'd assumed that he knew best, that it was her second day Hunting so she didn't understand what she was talking about.

He'd been wrong.

Dean didn't apologise- she wasn't expecting an apology and she didn't really want one - but the hand on her thigh gave a gentle squeeze, to let her know that he felt guilty for not trusting her instincts. Slowly, she slid her hand down from where it was curled in her lap to rest over his, her fingertips stroking over the knuckles slowly. 

That night, after they said goodbye to Sam and went back to her motel room Dean decided to take a quick shower to wash off the dirt and grime from the cemetery. He was in and out in five minutes, but by the time he'd walked back out of the bathroom she'd passed out on the bed, still fully dressed. With a small smile, Dean padded across the room, unlacing her boots and sliding them off her feet one by one. She stirred on the bed a little, groaning something unintelligible, but he shushed her and unbuckled her jeans, sliding them down around her ankles and pulling them off with a little difficulty. He peeled her jacket off slowly, smiling as she stirred in his arms and tried to help in her semi-conscious state. 

"Dean..." She mumbled, reaching out blindly for him. Her head was turned into the pillow, eyes scrunched closed against the harsh light of the bedroom. He crawled into bed beside her, pulling her into his arms with ease and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as he heard her breathing slow a little. She hung there on the precipice between consciousness and sleep, but a minute later when he whispered her name, Dean got no response. 

"Night, Chey." He whispered, flicking the light off. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

She was in a forest. 

It was cold - the heavy blanket of snow that covered the trees to her left and the embankment down the stream on her right was enough of an indication of that - but somehow, Cheyenne didn't feel the chill. She was dreaming, she must have been. 

Cheyenne looked around her in confusion, snow crunching underfoot as she turned on the spot to take in her surroundings. It was peaceful, almost reminded her of the forest outside of Rivergrove where Mark had taken her fishing in her childhood. 

Her dreams weren't normally like this. In fact, Cheyenne couldn't remember the last time she'd dreamed and  _hadn't_  woken up shaky and sweating, clutching desperately at thin air as she sat bolt upright in bed. This didn't feel like her normal dreams. It was so calm, so peaceful...

As she took a few tentative steps through the woodland, Cheyenne saw her breath fog in front of her face, clouding into shapes she couldn't quite make out before dissipating. Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out moving figures, mostly dark against the stark white backdrop of the snow, but for some reason, they didn't scare her. She carried on walking, letting her feet choose the path for her like it was a road she'd walked a hundred times until she came to a clearing. 

Bobby was stood a few feet ahead - she recognised the peaked cap and beard instantly. He was turned away from her a little, but at the sound of her footsteps he looked over at her, an uncharacteristically warm smile on his face.

"Did good today, kid." He commented, slinging his hunting rifle over one shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

Cheyenne felt the heavy weight of her own rifle in her hands before she even looked down to see it, but sure enough, she was holding a gun - had she been holding a gun before? She couldn't remember. She couldn't even remember getting here, all she knew was that she was stood in the forest with Bobby, looking up at the light dusting of snow on the peak of his baseball cap. 

Her heart swelled at the sound of his praise, but a familiar sense of anxiety crept into the back of her mind, swirling around in the background like a dark cloud. Had she done well? Really? She couldn't be nearly as good as him - perhaps he was just saying it to be nice. 

One heavy hand clapped down on her shoulder, and suddenly Bobby was directly in front of her, still smiling down at her. Pale blue eyes twinkled underneath his baseball cap, somehow catching the light despite being shrouded in shade. Underneath the thick auburn beard, Cheyenne saw his lips twitch into another smile, stretching until it was a full-blown grin. 

"I mean it." He assured her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "You should be proud of yourself."

She couldn't speak, couldn't say anything in return. What did you say when someone complimented you like that? It had been years since someone had looked at her like that, unmistakable pride etched into their features, blossoming from their face like someone was shining a light. It was almost... Fatherly. 

"Come on." Bobby was back in the middle of the clearing, where he'd started. He beckoned her forwards with one outstretched hand. "The boys are waiting."

Her legs were moving without Cheyenne telling them to, and when she blinked the clearing was gone. Instead, she was stood at the bottom of the steps to Bobby's front door, his weathered old house standing in front of her warm and inviting - a stark contrast to the sharp, cold forest around them. 

Bobby pushed the door open with one hand, sparing her a glance over his shoulder. "Ain't you coming inside, kid?"

She put her foot on the bottom step, hearing the familiar creak of aged wood straining under her weight, but paused. Slowly, she turned back to the forest, peering through the thick snow. Had she seen something moving out there in the shadows, or was that just her imagination?

Of course it was her imagination, she reasoned - this was a dream. But what had that shape been? An animal? A person?

She heard Bobby's voice behind her, calling her name to draw her attention back to the house, and she turned on her heel, taking the steps one by one until she was stood with him on the worn wooden porch. Bobby went inside first, disappearing down the hallway and into the front room. Cheyenne made to follow him, but something made her pause. 

Her name. She heard her name. 

It wasn't Bobby's voice she heard this time, it was lighter, higher. A woman. She scanned the treeline for the source of the voice but saw nothing, just a wide expanse of beautiful, crisp forest. The voice was gone, and so was the moving figure she'd seen before. 

When she turned her back to the forest, she wasn't in the doorway anymore. She was stood in Bobby's front room, a cold beer in hand. In the corner of the room the fireplace was lit - the first time she'd ever seen it in use. Bobby was sat behind his desk, feet propped up against the wood and ankles crossed lazily. 

She could hear voices in the kitchen, two male, and one female. The men she recognised instantly, but the woman she couldn't quite place, so she followed the voices into the kitchen. Sure enough, Sam and Dean were stood across the table from each other, laughing about something one of them had said. It was good to see them like this, carefree and happy. The faint lines of a frown that were almost permanently etched onto Dean's face had faded, and the lingering sadness in Sam's eyes that she'd seen since John's funeral had disappeared. For the first time in a long time, they looked completely happy. 

But the woman wasn't there. 

Frowning, Cheyenne walked back into the hallway, turning her head this way and that in search of any indication that she was still around. There was nothing. No voice, no laughter. Nothing. She continued on down the hallway to the front door - perhaps the woman was outside?

From back in the front room, Cheyenne heard Sam's laughter, and Dean's voice calling her to join them. Her fingertips lingered on the handle for a moment longer, but then finally she turned back to the front room, walking in to join them. She had no idea what they were celebrating, but they seemed happy. She felt that warm swell in her chest, just like she had done back in the clearing when Bobby had spoken to her, and as she joined the three men in front of the fire, all thoughts of the woman's voice escaped her. She was content. 

When she woke up the next morning to weak sunlight filtering through the curtains, it wasn't with a start like normal. She didn't wake up clutching her chest or desperately scrabbling at the bed for Dean like she normally did when she dreamed. Her eyes opened slowly, squinting against the light after being shut for so long. Behind her, she could feel the warmth of Dean's broad chest pressed to her back, she could feel his arm draped over her side like a heavy blanket. 

For the first morning in a long time, Cheyenne just laid there as the last few memories of her dreams slipped through her fingers, trying to piece together what had happened. Why did she feel so relaxed? She'd been in a forest - she could remember the trees. Had it been snowing? Maybe. 

After a few minutes of laying there in silence and trying to remember what she'd seen Cheyenne gave up, resigning herself to just cuddling up into Dean, pulling his arm over her a little more so she could lace her fingers in his. She listened to his steady breathing in her ear, felt his chest rise and fall against her back as he dozed, getting a full night's sleep for the first time in weeks. It was peaceful, oddly relaxed for them, and she liked it.

Cheyenne wasn't going to question it too much, but she'd woken up with an unfamiliar warmth in her chest, an emotion she couldn't quite place. All she knew was when she pictured that forest she'd seen in her dreams, she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. 


	45. Chapter 45

If Cheyenne had been expecting any kind of reprieve after returning to Sioux Falls, then she was sorely disappointed. Bobby had chided her gently for disappearing on a Hunt without getting any proper help, which she wasn't entirely surprised by, but as soon as he'd finished scolding her she'd seen a semi-smile beneath his thick beard. She wasn't in  _that much_  trouble, she concluded. 

Given the fact that Cheyenne was officially on the lam - which Dean reasoned made her as much of a Hunter as the three of them - Bobby begrudgingly gave up one of his spare rooms for her. He'd grumbled about not being a halfway house, pointed a finger at the brothers and told them in no uncertain terms that he  _wasn't adopting no damn orphans here_ , but ultimately it had been him that helped Cheyenne unload the boxes from the back of her pickup. 

For someone who'd complained about giving up his spare room, Cheyenne found it to be surprisingly clean. Not just 'I swept the whole house' clean but 'I've been preparing for a guest' clean. She didn't comment on it though, decided it was best to protect Bobby's gruff image and pretend that she hadn't noticed he'd put in a new chest of drawers since she'd been gone, or that he'd fixed the wonky handle on the closet. He'd prepared this room for her, not that he'd ever admit it. 

Sam and Dean had disappeared on a Hunt the morning after they got to Sioux Falls, but they were back a week later, and by the time they'd returned Cheyenne had made the room her own. The Otis Redding poster hung on the far wall, her cactus (which he was surprised had survived the journey from Wisconsin) was perched on top of the dresser, and the room was scattered with various bits and pieces, some of which he recognised from her old apartment. 

Besides unpacking and making herself comfortable, Cheyenne didn't have time for a whole lot else. Bobby had made it clear to her that if she was to stay under his roof, he was going to train her - he didn't want her wandering out the front door and getting killed in thirty seconds, after all. 

Training with a pistol hadn't been so difficult - her arms still ached and her head still spun if she fired it for too long, but pistols were comparatively light and easy to carry around. The first time Bobby had shown her how to shoot with a rifle she nearly cried, the muscles in her arms screaming in protest by the end of the day as she finally eased herself into a hot bath. Shotguns had been a pain in the ass too, but over the months she stayed at the Singer residence, they got a little easier to handle. Besides, as Bobby had pointed out - they had such a wide spray that at close range you could virtually just close your eyes and pull the trigger. 

Beyond firearms training, Bobby laid out strict instructions for Cheyenne to make her own journal. He wouldn't always be on the other end of the line to help her in a bind, and she needed to have a wealth of resources at her disposal in order to Hunt safely, particularly given her inexperience. He, Sam and Dean had all been Hunting for years. An awful lot was ingrained into them now, battered into their memories forcibly from too many run-ins with ghosts, but she was still relatively new to this. The last thing she wanted was to be caught out alone on a highway with no idea of how to defend herself. 

Whenever Sam and Dean were around, they helped to teach her some self-defense moves, teaching her how to spar, how to use her smaller stature to her advantage when something came at her. More often than not Sam had to be the one to teach her hand-to-hand combat; Dean always got a little too excited whenever he flipped her onto her back and had her pinned beneath him, and got distracted from the lesson. On more than one occasion Sam had walked in on fairly compromising situations and had to back out with his eyes closed, muttering something about needing therapy. 

She was learning surprisingly quickly, particularly when it came to lore, spells and symbols. Dean had almost laughed when she'd slammed a large binder down on the kitchen table one morning, opening it proudly to reveal its contents. 

"What the hell is that?"

"My binder." She pointed down at one of the laminated pages as if it was obvious. "Bobby said to make one."

"No," Dean chuckled, sipping his coffee. "Bobby said to make a  _journal_. This is-"

"This is good," Sam interjected with a kind smile, flipping through the pages. It was a good call to laminate her notes - on more than one occasion he and Dean had been caught out in the rain while reading John's journal, and they'd had to huddle together to try and protect their father's precious inscribing. "It's a little big, though. You can't really... Carry it around with you everywhere."

"Oh!" Her face brightened at that, and she scurried off upstairs to her room, leaving the brothers to go through her detailed notes. Information was grouped together and colour coded in a way that sent a sharp pain of longing through Sam's chest. Cheyenne was an academic, not unlike him, so her degree training had obviously kicked in when she'd made these notes. He had sudden, vivid memories of being hunched up over notes under a desk lamp, cramming for his LSAT. 

She returned a few minutes later with a much smaller black journal, which she'd tossed at Dean. He caught it easily, flicking through it with an impressed smile. 

"Detailed notes." She jabbed at the binder in Sam's hands.

"For when I'm on the go." She pointed at the small black journal. Dean put it down on the table, grinning up at her as he shook his head slowly. 

"Sweetheart, you are a _nerd_."

He'd later admitted to Sam that it had been a good idea to make a more detailed selection of notes, and if Sam didn't know any better, he would have said his older brother was embarrassed he hadn't thought of it sooner. Despite his jokes, Dean had looked damn proud when he'd seen just how good Cheyenne's research was, and he hadn't been able to wipe the smile off his face when Cheyenne and Sam had gone through the binder together. 

In between crafting her own Hunter's Journal and learning practical survival skills, Cheyenne helped Bobby out around the house. Calls came in from Hunters asking for information on a case, and the two of them would stay up late to research, drawing from every corner of Bobby's vast library. Sometimes they'd get calls for backup, and if the case seemed big enough, Bobby would let her tag along. For the most part, Hunters that she was unfamiliar with ignored her, but a few of them recognised her voice from the phone calls to Bobby's asking for research, and they greeted her with friendly smiles. 

She didn't trust many of them though; she'd been warned against it by Bobby and the brothers enough times to know better. A lot of Hunters were good people; they looked out for their own. Some of them were dangerous though - as Ellen had pointed out once when asked; _it_ _takes a special kind of crazy to volunteer for this life_. 

Her first Christmas at Bobby's had been weird. Christmas had never really been a huge deal for her, and after going to college, she'd come to dread returning home for the holidays. When December swung around, and Bobby made no mention of the holiday season she decided not to press the issue. Dean had already warned her that being a Hunter tended to make for a miserable Christmas, and it was just one of those things she'd probably have to get used to. 

She didn't mind not celebrating. It wasn't like she was missing out on a huge tradition or anything, but nevertheless, as December dragged on and she had to listen to Mariah Carey's  _All I Want For Christmas is You_  every God-Damn day, she felt a little pang of longing. For the first time - possibly ever - she was surrounded by people she cared about. More than that, she was surrounded by people who cared about her, but even so, there was no mention of Christmas celebration from Bobby, who seemed to largely ignore the tinsel and fairy lights that they passed when they went on supply runs in Sioux Falls. 

Christmas morning rolled around, and she'd all but forgotten the date when she stumbled into the kitchen, half asleep and murmuring her good mornings to the three Hunters that were huddled around the kitchen table. It was only after she had a coffee in hand and she'd started to wake up that she noticed the three of them were looking at her expectantly. "What?"

"You don't want your presents?" Bobby chuckled, cocking an eyebrow. 

A wave of horror rushed over Cheyenne as she stared up at him, before looking across the table to Sam and Dean. She'd figured they weren't celebrating, so she hadn't bought anyone anything. "Presents?" 

"Relax," Dean assured her gently, smiling at her over the rim of his coffee cup. "Christmas ain't really our thing, but we figured given it's your first Christmas as a Hunter we might as well kit you out like one."

They'd fitted her with an arsenal. Everything she could have needed was in the grey duffel that Sam pushed into her hands, from stakes to silver bullets. The three men watched as she pawed through the kit, going through everything and making a mental note of its uses, telling herself to double check anything she wasn't certain about. 

"That's not all," Dean informed her with a grin, tossing her an ornate silver hip flask. She opened it suspiciously, taking a sniff and expecting to be met with the overwhelming smell of whiskey, or maybe Bobby's rotgut crap that they sometimes drank when the liquor stores were shut. Instead, she couldn't smell anything. It was filled with Holy Water, they informed her. But if she was in a bind, it could be repurposed and filled with whiskey, they wouldn't hold it against her. 

Her final present was tucked deep inside the duffel Sam had given her; she'd missed it the first time. Bobby encouraged her to keep looking for it, and eventually, she produced a pistol.

She'd never been one to wax lyrical about a firearm, but even she couldn't deny that the gun was beautiful. Just like Sam and Dean's pistols, it was stainless steel. Where they had pale grips - Dean's made from ivory and Sam's mother-of-pearl, her pistol had a dark rosewood grip, waxed to perfection until it shone under the ceiling lamp. The slide was decorated with ornate, intricate carvings that she could have spent hours examining, and when she looked closer at the grip, she realised it was carved with a Latin incantation. A basic exorcism, the first one Bobby had drilled into her. 

"Wow." She finally breathed, looking around at them slowly. Bobby chuckled, sipping his coffee with a smug smile. 

"Sig Sauer P226. Navy Seal certified." He informed her. "If you're gonna be a Hunter, you can't just live off our spare weapons. All this kit is yours, so you'd better take damn good care of it."

"I will." She promised immediately, meeting Bobby's gaze and sharing his smile for a moment. It wasn't exactly a traditional gift - designed for business rather than pleasure - but it was still the best gift she'd ever been given. "Thank you... All of you, thank you so much..."

The boys even took her along on a few Hunts after that, usually just on simple salt-and-burn cases that could be researched and finished in a matter of days, but after Cheyenne's persistent bugging, Dean relented and agreed to let her tag along on a Vampire Hunt. She was given strict instructions to stick behind him or Sam at all times -  _absolutely no wandering off, Cheyenne_  - and she was to follow his orders at all times, without question. It had been a difficult Hunt, downright terrifying when she came face to face with her first Vampire, but it was oddly rewarding in the end.

That night in the motel room Dean had been uncharacteristically affectionate. Normally after a Hunt he just flopped down on the bed beside her and snored into her hair while she drifted off, but that night he didn't let go of her, wouldn't let her out of his sight for more than a few minutes before his hands were all over her and his lips were on hers. It was his way of telling her he was proud of her, she realised. That night, as they laid together on the mattress that was broken springs than actual bedding, when they were both half asleep with her staring at the ceiling and Dean sprawled out on his belly beside her, he'd whispered it under his breath. He told her that he was proud of everything she'd done, of how well she was taking everything, how happy he was to have her there with him. She'd fallen asleep to the sound of his voice, to gentle words of praise softly spoken in the darkness. 

Life continued on like that for months. Sometimes Cheyenne would spend weeks on the road with the brothers without heading back to Sioux Falls, and she'd live out of a duffel bag, eating crappy diner food and drinking cheap liquor. She'd spend the days cooped up in the Impala or following the Winchesters in her pickup, usually listening to the boys bicker good-naturedly over where to eat, or which seedy motel to sleep in. Sometimes she stepped in to instigate when they got too annoying, or when tempers flared just a little too much, but for the most part she let them play out. More often than not she found herself taking Sam's side, generally trying to quell whichever impulsive (and stupid) desires Dean had. Most of the time they managed to keep him in line, but on more than one occasion she and Sam had found themselves sprinting after Dean as he made a swift exit from whichever dive bar they'd ended up in, usually with the group of bikers he had hustled hot on their trail. 

They taught her how to hustle, pointing out that people would be more willing to lose money on her than they would be on them. She'd been a little insulted at the idea that they expected her to flirt her way into making money, but they'd all quickly realised that she didn't have to make much of an effort to attract attention most of the time. Even if she didn't flirt, barely even cracked a smile, there would usually be  _one_  asshole at a bar that was willing to slap two hundred bucks on a pool table when she asked. 

They rarely chased after her when they realised they'd been tricked - the visual of running after a woman to forcibly take your money back was never a good one - but every so often Sam or Dean would have to whisk her away, speeding back to the Impala to hide out until tempers had settled down. She'd never thought hustling dumb bikers out of a couple of hundred bucks would be fun, but every time she proudly slapped a roll of bills down in front of the brothers, she couldn't help the rush of excitement, so she was usually more than happy to do it when she was particularly bored. Sometimes Sam or Dean would play along with her, enticing men into joining her at the table. They could easily make a few hundred dollars a night. 

If she wasn't Hunting with Sam and Dean, she was in Sioux Falls with Bobby. As her confidence in Hunting grew, Bobby allowed her to accompany him on jobs more often, occasionally sending her out to help Hunters he trusted in his place while he stayed behind to man the phones at his house. The cases she attended were usually easy, low-level salt-and-burn jobs that were comparatively safe, and she made sure to check in with Bobby  _and_  Dean whenever she worked them, but the small sense of freedom it afforded her felt good.

Generally speaking, Cheyenne worked with the same four or five Hunters whenever she wasn't with Sam, Dean or Bobby - they were the few that Bobby trusted enough to keep her out of harm's way. Garth, a young Hunter who was only a few years into the job, was a regular that she found herself working with. He was a stark contrast to the Winchesters; bright and bubbly where they were stoic and serious, friendly and open where they were a closed book, even to her. They worked together a few times in the months after she started staying at Bobby's, and out of all the Hunters she and Bobby helped out, he was her favourite.

As the months went on, Cheyenne found herself in the Roadhouse more than once, passed out in one of Ellen's spare rooms or asleep in the corner, left alone under Ash's watchful eye. It wasn't easy, but Hunting didn't seem to be the worst gig in the world. Especially not when - as Dean assured her over and over again - it was only temporary. As soon as they'd killed the Yellow-Eyed-Demon and cleared their names with the FBI (or faked their own deaths), they would be free to start new lives. Safe, white picket fence, apple pie lives.

It was what he'd been talking to her late one night while he was on a case. She and Bobby had just returned from a particularly exhausting job involving a cursed necklace and a particularly snobby Upstate New York family, and he and Sam were on the road. They weren't quite sure what they were looking for, but Sam was fairly certain it was a Djinn. 

"Like a genie?" She asked, kicking her feet up on the coffee table as she relaxed back against Bobby's worn couch. 

"Yeah..." Dean gave a heavy sigh, shifting in the front seat of the Impala. He'd been driving around the neighbourhood where they'd pinpointed the recent string of disappearances for hours, and his ass had fallen asleep. "Pretty sure that what it is. Sam says they tend to hide out in abandoned warehouses, places like that. I'm swinging around to check a place out, maybe gank this sucker before he hurts anyone else."

"You're going alone?" She asked uncertainly. Dean shrugged it off, pulling up to the abandoned factory he'd passed an hour earlier and peering at it in the darkness. It was dark, imposing and foreboding. In other words, it was the perfect spot to catch a monster.

"Sure, why not?"

"I can think of a few reasons why you shouldn't go running into a monster lair alone."

"We don't know that it's a monster lair." He pointed out as he got out of the Impala, slamming the door shut behind him. "Right now it's just a creepy abandoned factory."

" _Dean_." She sighed, stressing the vowels in a way she only ever did when she was trying to stop him from doing something reckless. "Come on, go get Sam and scope it out together."

"Sweetheart," Dean smiled gently, double checking the ammo in his pistol. "Relax. I am a _professional_. Nothing's gonna happen to me."

And with that he hung up the phone, tucking it into the back pocket of his worn-out blue jeans as he headed for the side door into the factory, gun raised.


	46. Chapter 46

When Dean woke up under the covers, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at least not at first. The duvet that cocooned him was soft and warm, and smelt like Cheyenne, but when he reached out blindly for her, he couldn't feel her in the spot next to him. 

"Chey?" He groaned, blinking slowly as he opened his eyes. That was when he noticed something was off - they weren't curled up together in her room at Bobby's, nor were they in some crappy motel room that smelt vaguely like a public toilet. When Dean looked around, he realised he was in an unfamiliar bedroom, one that he hadn't slept in before. Either he'd gotten really drunk the night before, or something was  _seriously_  wrong. 

It was the latter, he realised as he spotted the framed picture on the bedside table. It was a picture of him and Cheyenne, but it wasn't one he recognised. They were on a beach somewhere, a towel wrapped around the two of them as they laughed into the camera, Cheyenne's damp hair curling against her forehead, and flecks of sand speckling Dean's cheeks. 

"Okay..." Dean murmured to himself, placing the picture back on the bedside table and leaning over to the other side of the bed. There was a different framed picture here, another one he didn't recognise. It looked like Cheyenne's graduation, but something about it seemed off. Dean studied the picture for a few seconds before realising - he was dressed in a button down shirt and slacks, his leather jacket nowhere in sight. He could have  _sworn_  he was wearing the jacket to her graduation though - he'd only been able to swing by last minute, coming straight from a hunt. 

As he placed the picture back on the bedside table, Dean caught sight of the clock. 6:36 AM. It was early, no wonder he felt so groggy.

Left with no answers but a lot of questions, Dean got out of bed properly and left the bedroom, stepping out into the main room of a small, but well decorated apartment. It was dark, only lit by the lamp on the end table beside the couch, and the glow of Cheyenne's laptop. She was perched on the couch, lower lip caught between her teeth as she stared at the screen. His movement caught her attention, she must have seen him in her peripheral vision.

"You're up early," She commented, closing her laptop and putting it on the coffee table. "Everything alright?"

"Chey..." He began, looking around the apartment. The decorations were simple - one large painting hung on the far wall, the bookcase in the corner had yet another photograph over them, and a throw blanket similar to the one she'd owned in college was tossed over the couch, but other that there was minimal clutter, just how she liked it. There were signs that he lived here too - the record collection on the top shelf of the bookcase, with  _Led Zeppelin II_  face forward on the shelf, a vintage style poster from his favourite brand of beer that hung on the wall into the kitchen. This was the kind of apartment Dean could see them living in, for sure. But why the hell did it look like they  _were_  living in it, even though he'd never been here before? 

"What's up?" She walked over to him, reaching up to comb his hair back from his forehead with one hand. "You still having trouble sleeping?"

"Huh?" He looked down at her, shaking his head slowly. "No, I just..."

"Just what?" Cheyenne rested the palms of both hands against his chest, smiling up at him. It was the same smile he'd seen a thousand times before, and it would have relaxed Dean, if not for the ring he saw on her finger. 

It was an engagement ring. A simple silver band with a small diamond set in the middle, but it was unmistakably an engagement ring. That he had given to her. 

Dean leapt back like he'd been scalded, narrowly avoiding knocking a photograph off the nearby wall. This was getting  _too_  weird - first the apartment, now the engagement ring?

"Dean?" She cocked an eyebrow. "What's wrong with you?"

A flash of blue. Bright blue -  _electric blue_  - eyes that pierced through the darkness, bearing down on Dean as he fought, struggled. He couldn't breathe, felt like he was drowning. Then a flash of pain, the darkness closed in and... Nothing. 

"The Djinn." He whispered, realisation dawning on his face. Of course it was the Djinn; it must have attacked him when he went into the factory.  _Stupid_. He should have listened to Sam and Cheyenne, shouldn't have gone in there alone. "It... Attacked me."

"The gin?" Cheyenne echoed, eyebrow still raised in concern. "You don't normally drink gin."

"No, not  _gin_." He gave an exasperated sigh, walking past her and slumping down on the couch. "The..."

Dean trailed off, catching sight of her worried expression as pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, checking for a fever that didn't exist. It was no use, he realised. Whatever the Djinn had done to him, Cheyenne wasn't a Hunter any more. He couldn't talk to her about it without sounding crazy. He probably  _already_  sounded crazy.

"I'm going to fix you some coffee." She whispered, still not convinced that he was okay as she drifted off into the kitchen. Dean watched her go, a line appearing between his brows. Maybe... Maybe somehow the Djinn had changed reality for them? Was this his wish, to finally be out of the game, finished with Hunting?

Were they civilians?

Cheyenne pressed a hot cup of coffee into his hands, interrupting him from his thoughts. "Baby, maybe you should take the day off work. You don't look so good."

Dean looked at her for a few moments, scanning her face for any sign that she wasn't Cheyenne but there was nothing. Those same eyes that he'd looked into a thousand times stared at him from across the couch, that concerned expressed that touched his heart was creasing her face into a slight frown. Slowly - hesitantly - Dean leaned over, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to hers in the most gentle of kisses. 

"No." He whispered, tracing her cupid's bow with the thumb of his free hand before letting it rest against the depression in the middle of her lower lip, just as he'd done hundreds of times before. "I'm absolutely fine."

"Are you sure?" She double checked, still not entirely convinced, not even when he kissed her slowly again, an unspoken assurance that he was alright. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" He smiled gently, fingertips grazing the line of her jaw. "I've got my girl, I've got my coffee... It's a good morning."

"Well you're certainly perkier than normal for 7AM on a Wednesday." She joked. "Not that I'm complaining."

Dean placed his coffee cup down on the table next to her laptop, catching sight of the handful of mail scattered across the wood. Slowly, he reached out to pick them up. Some were addressed to him, some to her. 

Cheyenne caught him looking. "Oh yeah, remind me to call up the gas company on Friday to have an argument with them. I'm pretty sure we're getting ripped off."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. Yesterday he'd been researching missing women, and she'd been struggling to pry a cursed necklace out of the hands of some rich woman in New York. Today their biggest problem was the gas company scamming them out of a few extra bucks a month. 

Cheyenne was still talking as she stood up, wandering into the kitchen. "So I've got some meetings with my advisor today, and then I've got a two hour class but after that I'm free. Do you want to grab lunch or something?"

"Class?" He echoed, turning to look at her from his place on the couch. She stuck her head though the service hatch between the kitchen and living room. 

"You know..." Cheyenne deadpanned. "The post-grad degree your mom convinced me was a good idea? The thing I was busting my ass over until one in the morning last night?"

She'd already turned away from him to root through the fridge for something before she'd finished speaking, but if she hadn't then Cheyenne would have noticed the change in Dean. His face went slack, jaw hanging open a little in shock, but the rest of him went rigid. Surely, he couldn't have heard her right.  _Surely_  she didn't say mom. 

Dean looked back down at the bills in his hand, checking the address that he hadn't bothered to examine before.  _53, Barker Ave., Lawrence, KS, 66044_. 

"Lawrence..." He whispered to himself, the bills falling from his grasp as he leaped to his feet. Barker Avenue wasn't a street he was familiar with, but as long as he could find his way into the centre of the city from here, he'd be able to go back to his childhood home. To see if...

Dean shook himself sternly, freezing on the spot. He was being stupid, irrational. Just because the Djinn had dumped him and Cheyenne in Lawrence, it didn't mean that his mom would be waiting for him back at his old house. There was no  _way_  that was possible; he must have just misheard her when he thought she'd said 'mom'. 

The temptation was too great to resist though. The thought that maybe... Just maybe Mary would be there was too much to handle. Maybe his wish hadn't been that he and Cheyenne were civilians, maybe his wish had been that his mother had never died in that fire twenty years earlier. 

He ignored Cheyenne's voice when he ran back into the bedroom, fishing out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the closet and pulling them on as quickly as possible. Even when he ran back out into the front room, snatching up his keys from the hall table as he headed for the door he ignored her, didn't respond when she called his name. Instead, he let the door slam shut behind him, running to a familiar looking car which was parked a few feet from the apartment building. He was inside the Impala with the engine running in seconds, and before Cheyenne could even get to the front door and open it, he'd disappeared down the street and into the early morning light. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

As quickly as he'd driven to his old childhood home, now that Dean was stood at the front door he couldn't move. He'd frozen in place, legs locked together and hand raised, inches from the door and closed into a fist as he prepared to knock, but couldn't bring himself to follow through. 

 _Just do it_. He scolded himself.  _Don't be a coward_. 

Seeing his mom alive was all Dean had wanted for 27 years, but now that he was faced with that possibility, faced with that reality, he was too scared to even move. When he considered it, Dean wasn't actually certain of whether he was more afraid of her being on the other side of the door when he knocked, or whether he was more scared of her not being there. 

His curiosity beat fear, just like it always did, and he knocked sharply, twice. From somewhere inside the house he heard shuffling, then distinct footsteps, and then through the frosted glass he saw a figure come closer. The door opened slowly, and Dean could have sworn for a moment his heart stopped. 

It was her.

She was alive, in front of him. Living and breathing. Looking at him with the kind of concern only a mother could manage, the look he hadn't seen for 23 years. "Dean?"

He could barely trust himself to speak. Over the past two decades he'd tried to picture how his mom sounded more than once, but as time went on it became harder and harder to imagine it, like he was trying to remember the last dregs of a dream only to watch them slip through his fingers. Hearing it again was like a rush of ecstasy to his system, and his throat clogged with hot tears that threatened to dissolve. "Mom?"

"Honey, are you alright?" She asked quietly, eyes searching his face for some kind of indication of what was wrong with him. She couldn't find one, couldn't even imagine what would be wrong with her son, because to  _her_  it hadn't been 23 years since he'd last heard her voice. 

"I don't know." He admitted finally, feeling his hands shake as he reached out to hug her. She (thankfully) didn't push him away, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, despite her surprise. 

"Come on inside." She whispered. "It's cold out."

Dean stepped into his house, the house he'd had such faint memories of as a child. In the front room he could see photographs, only one of which he recognised - the picture from John and Mary's wedding. As Mary led him into the front room he pulled away from her, walking over to examine the pictures more carefully. There were pictures of Christmas mornings that Dean had never taken part in, pictures from a Thanksgiving dinner he'd never eaten. Photographs of graduations he'd never attended, snapshots from holidays he'd never been on. Somehow, he'd led an entire life here, and not a bad one by the looks of things. There was even a the picture from Cheyenne's graduation, the same one he'd spotted in their apartment earlier. 

Mary saw him looking at the photograph. "She called, you know. Was worried about you, said you just took off all of a sudden like something spooked you."

"Yeah I just..." Dean looked around the living room, his gaze finally landing back on Mary, who was still looking at him in confusion. "Missed the old place. Missed  _you_."

She smiled gently at that, accepting it as a good enough excuse for his behaviour as she crossed the room to join him. "Well, it's good to see you. Even if it only is 7:30 in the morning and I'm only half awake."

He suddenly felt a little pang of guilt for rushing in unannounced and surprising her, before reminding himself that he hadn't seen her in 23 years, so it could be excused. "Yeah, uh... Sorry."

"It's okay sweetie." She caught his chin between forefinger and thumb, tilting his head down a little so he was looking her in the eye. "You hungry? I could fix us breakfast."

"Yeah." He whispered, feeling tears shine in his eyes at the offer, at the mention of eating breakfast with his mom, just like he used to. "I'd love that, Mom."

"Good." Mary patted his cheek gently. "Just for the love of God, call Cheyenne and let her know you're okay."

He assured her that he would, drifting into the kitchen behind her to watch as she pulled a pack of eggs and some bacon from the fridge. His stomach rumbled appreciatively in response, and he heard her laugh. "I should assume that you're hungry then?"

"A little." He admitted, falling into a seat at the kitchen table. Not much in this room was different to his vague memories. The stove and the fridge had been updated, the dishwasher was new and he was certain they'd repainted a little, but other than that it was the same.

As he watched Mary cook, a thought crossed his mind. "So uh... Where's Sam?"

"He'll be here in a few hours, don't you worry." 

"Good." He grinned up at her as she turned to shoot him a small smile. "I've uh... It'll be good to see him."

"Sweetheart," Mary began, pausing for a moment as she tried to come up with the best way to vocalise her thoughts. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you, because I really am. But don't you have to be getting to work?"

"Work?" He echoed. She glanced over her shoulder, but didn't turn around fully, still concentrating on making breakfast. 

"At the Garage?"

"Oh!" So he was a mechanic now. "Yeah uh... Got the day off. Thought maybe I could... Spend it with you instead, y'know..."

She seemed genuinely touched by his words, a grin spreading across her face and replacing the worry. After double checking nothing was going to burn if she left it unattended for a few seconds, Mary walked over to him, tilting his head up to look at her with two fingers under his chin. "That's very sweet, Honey. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mom."

 _Mom_. He thought to himself, watching as she walked back to the stove. He could say it a hundred times and it wouldn't get old. 

As Dean sat there, watching Mary cook for the first time in over two decades, he felt relaxed. The tension in his shoulders ebbed away, the faint frown lines that gathered in his forehead smoothed out, and when he spoke he did so with a genuine smile. 

If this was his wish, he decided, he could live like this forever.


	47. Chapter 47

Dean stayed with Mary for the rest of the day. He jumped at every chance to help her, from the dishes that she promised him could just be thrown into the dishwasher to mowing the law that she assured him could have waited until the weekend. He stayed by her side all morning like a lost puppy, following her from room to room and just listening to the voice he'd thought he would never hear again. Everything about this felt so real, from the gentle touch of Mary's hand against his as she passed him something to the echo of her laughter from the other room when he told her a joke.

Cheyenne swung by the house at around lunchtime, still concerned about how quickly he'd taken off earlier. _"Are you sure you're okay? Are you absolutely sure? You scared me, running off like that!"_

Dean assured her over and over again that he was absolutely fine, just wanted to spend some time with Mary. When she asked about work he lied and said he'd taken her advice, called in sick because he wasn't feeling one hundred per cent. (It wasn't exactly a lie - he was still a little uneasy about all of this.)

When Sam showed up in the early afternoon, Dean had never been happier to see him. The idea of his baby brother finally being free of Hunting, like he'd wanted his whole life was almost better than the prospect of Dean himself getting out. Had the Djinn dumped him back in Law School where he'd left off? Was Jessica still alive? 

His younger brother looked almost the same as he had done the last time Dean had seen him back in the motel before heading out on the job, except maybe a little less stressed. Sam stepped out of a shiny new Prius (a choice Dean decided he wouldn't comment on), tugging a suitcase out of the back of the car and dumping it on the sidewalk. From the passenger's side door, a familiar blonde emerged, tugging her jacket around herself to protect against the chill. 

"Sammy!" Dean ran out of the front door as soon as he spotted his younger brother. "Jessica!"

They both looked up at the sound of his voice, exchanging weary glances that he missed as he raced around the car to pull Jess into a tight hug, catching her off guard. She looked exactly the same as she had done that night in Stanford when they'd first met, eyeing him up with much the same apprehension as she had done then. "Okay! It's uh... Good to see you too, Dean."

"It's so good to see you..." He murmured softly, squeezing her tighter. He meant it - it really was good to see them back together again. Dean had had to watch Sam mourn Jess, had to listen to him wake up screaming her name from nightmares. For months, he'd seen the guilt in his younger brother's hazel eyes whenever he thought about her death; he'd seen him flinch away from fire when they'd burned bones together at the end of Hunts. But Jess was here again, alive and  _safe_  and with Sam; he'd never have to see any of that again. 

"Dean..." She wheezed, patting his arm gently as if she was tapping out of a playfight. "Can't... Breathe."

He let go immediately, shooting her a rueful grin. "Sorry."

"It's uh..." She shot Sam an uncertain glance, and he shrugged in response. "It's okay, don't worry about it."

"So where'd you guys come in from?" Dean asked, looking between them with that same grin on his face. "No, wait - California, right? Law School?"

Sam cocked an eyebrow, glancing down at the bottle of beer in Dean's hand. He'd opened it not long after he'd mowed the lawn, deciding to kick his feet up on the coffee table during a well-earned break. His younger brother didn't seem to approve, judging by the small huff that Dean heard. "I see you're starting Mom's birthday off with a bang, as usual."

_Wait, what?_

"Mom's birthday?" Dean looked between them, non-plussed. "That's... That's today?"

Sam's lips settled into a thin line, and Dean spotted a muscle jump in his jaw. Despite everything else that had changed, Sam's bitch-face remained the same, at least. " _Please_  don't tell me you forgot."

"Of course he didn't forget." Dean heard Cheyenne's voice behind him as she walked down the front path towards the car. "He hasn't shut up about it all week."

Sam's demeanour changed instantly. Where he'd been damn-near scowling at Dean, a relaxed grin broke out across his face at the sight of Cheyenne strolling towards him, her arms outstretched in the silent promise of a hug. With a chuckle, Sam closed the distance between them, sweeping her up into a tight bear hug that almost literally took her off her feet. 

"Have you grown?" She laughed, hugging him back equally tightly. "I swear to God, you weren't this tall on your birthday..."

"Haven't grown." He promised with a smile, pulling back a little to look at her fondly. "You might've shrunk though. How tall are you? Four foot something?"

She punched his arm lightly, and he reeled backwards in mock agony, holding his shoulder like she'd shot him as he apologised. Dean watched the two of them in surprise - Sam and Cheyenne got along well, generally bonded over shared exasperated groans and jokes at his expense, but they'd never been... Close. They'd never smiled at each other like this, like... Old friends, meeting for the first time in months. 

Cheyenne got an equally warm hug from Jessica, both gushing over how long it had been since they'd last seen each other, talking excitedly about something that Dean didn't pay much attention to. Instead, over their heads, he met Sam's gaze, expecting at the very least one of his small, tight-lipped smiles. He got nothing though - Sam had already turned his back on Dean, heading back to the car to pull his luggage out. 

Weird, Dean decided as he sipped his beer. Very weird. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

They went to dinner for Mary's birthday - a fancy Italian place that she had picked out weeks earlier (apparently), and was excited to try. After Sam and Jess got settled in, and the five of them sat around chatting idly for an hour Cheyenne realised they needed to go back to the apartment to get ready, and they disappeared home. The dress code for the restaurant was a lot more formal than Dean had been anticipating, and he virtually groaned in protest when Cheyenne reminded him that he needed to wear a tie. 

"Are you sure?" He whined, almost stomping his feet like a toddler. "I'm wearing the shirt, I changed out of my jeans. Do I  _really_  need the tie too?"

She looked over at him from where she was putting her earrings on in the vanity mirror, narrowing her eyes a little. "If you want to go to dinner you do."

"But-"

"Either you wear the suit jacket, or you wear the tie." She stood up to help him find a tie that would clash with his blue shirt, eventually settling on a navy one. "You opted for the tie, remember?"

He could only respond with a non-committal frustrated grunt. It wasn't fair that he was being expected to uphold decisions he hadn't made. 

Cheyenne was quiet on the drive there. If it hadn't been for the fact that she'd seemed fine at the house, Dean would have thought she was upset about something. When he looked over at her in the darkness of the car her brow was furrowed, her lower lip caught between her teeth like she was deep in thought. He considered asking her about it but knew he probably wouldn't get a response, so instead, he just reached over with his right hand, lacing his fingers into hers and giving them a gentle squeeze, which she returned. 

It wasn't until they were in the parking lot of the restaurant that she told him what was wrong. As he locked the Impala and reached for her hand to start walking inside, she pulled him to a stop, looking inexplicably nervous all of a sudden. "So, I've been thinking about this for a couple of days..."

"Thinking about what?"

"Well, telling your mom." She smiled up at him uncertainly in the pale light of the distant streetlamp that illuminated the parking lot. At his blank expression, which she must have mistaken to mean something else, she tried to explain. "I mean, I know we said we wanted to wait until after 12 weeks just to be safe, but I figured it's your  _mom_ , and what better birthday present could we give her, right?"

As she spoke, Cheyenne pulled his hand against her stomach slowly, until his fingers were splayed out over the fabric of her dress. She bit her lip, looking up at him nervously in the darkness, practically hopping from foot to foot as she waited for his reaction. 

She was pregnant.

For a moment, everything else stopped. The rumble of the car engine down the street faded into nothing, the faint noise from the restaurant all but disappeared. He couldn't hear or see anything else except her, couldn't feel anything other than the warmth of her fingertips over his hand, gently pressing his palm against her stomach. 

"Y-You..." He breathed out, struggling to find the words. "You're..."

"I brought the scan." She reached into her purse, digging it out and holding it up in front of his face. "Figured we could give it to her during dinner."

Dean could feel his throat clogging up with tears as he stared at the grainy black and white photo. He had absolutely no idea which part of the smudgy picture was supposed to be their child, but it didn't matter. They were going to be parents, and they were going to have a family. 

"God, I love you." He croaked out, wrapping his arms around her tightly and catching her off guard. She laughed gently, surprised by his reaction, but happy nonetheless.

"I love you too, Dean. So should I take that as a yes? Can we tell them?"

He nodded quickly, not trusting himself to be able to speak as he held her close, cupping the back of her head gently. It was like somehow the Djinn had sneaked into his head and watch his most secret dreams, and they were playing out right in front of him. He had his mom, he had her, and they were going to have a child. The family he'd been fantasising about, like some dirty little secret. 

"Come on." She pulled away from him finally. "Let's go inside, they're going to be waiting for us."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mary cried when they passed her the scan after the bill was paid. Cheyenne and Dean clutched onto each other's hands nervously as the told her about the pregnancy, grinning like anxious teenagers coming home late after prom, waiting for her reaction. She was overjoyed at the idea of being a grandmother, couldn't hold the tears back when Cheyenne revealed the scan. 

Sam and Jess were excited for them too. Jess joined Cheyenne and Mary to coo over the scan (could women just magically read those things better than men?), and even Sam stood up to hug him. It was the first proper interaction they'd had all evening, save a few forced smiles and strained laughs, and it relaxed Dean a little. Before, when he'd spoken to Sam it hadn't felt real - it hadn't felt like  _his_  Sam. He'd been cold, distant, uncertain of his older brother. When he stood up to bring him into a warm hug though, that anxiety melted away. Finally, it felt like he was talking to his baby brother. 

"I'm happy for you, Dean." He said quietly, smiling. "Really, I am."

"Thanks, Sammy." He grinned back, glancing back down at the table where the three women were still talking animatedly about something pregnancy related. For a moment he just stood there, watching something he never thought he'd get to see - Cheyenne and Mary talking together, laughing together. Mother-In-Law and Daughter-In-Law. 

Sam had gone back to his seat, and Dean was about to return to his own when he felt a chill run down his spine, despite how warm the restaurant was. He paused, hand gripping the back of his chair as he lifted his head a little to scan the restaurant, his Hunter instincts kicking in as if someone had shocked him. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary - couples leaned over the table to whisper to each other, families laughed and toasted together, waiters bustled around almost silently. 

Still though, that chill made him nervous, made the hairs on his arms stand to attention. With a frown, Dean turned on the spot, examining the front of the restaurant. He didn't spot her at first; a waiter was in his line of sight, blocking her from his view. When he walked away though, Dean couldn't miss her. 

She was young - no older than nineteen - and filthy. Dressed in only a thin white sundress and no shoes, she stood in the middle of the restaurant, staring blankly at Dean. Waiters and patrons alike passed by her without so much as sparing her a passing glance, despite how dirty she was. And the way she was staring at Dean, God it was haunting. 

"Dean?" He heard Cheyenne's voice behind him, distantly as if she was calling his name through a pane of glass. "Everything okay?"

A waitress passed in front of him, blocking his view of the woman, and when she moved on the girl had gone, leaving nothing behind as if she had never existed. Confused, Dean turned back to the table, back to the concerned faces of his family. Clearly none of them had seen anything out of the ordinary, except for the fact that they'd watched him stare blankly across the restaurant for half a minute with no explanation. 

He made an excuse about seeing someone he thought he knew, which seemed to satisfy Mary and Jess, although Sam and Cheyenne didn't look hugely satisfied. Given that the bill had been paid, they left quickly, heading back to Mary's house together, with Jess and Sam driving her in their rental. They hung around in the front room for a few minutes, making the same idle conversation they had done only a few hours earlier, and then Mary said goodnight, disappearing upstairs and leaving the four young adults down in the entrance hall. 

"Well, I'm beat." Sam wrapped an arm loosely around Jessica's waist, pulling her closer. "You ready to turn in?"

Dean didn't give Jess the chance to answer, cutting in with a gentle laugh. "C'mon, man. It's barely even nine. Why don't we go out for a drink or something, celebrate together?"

Instead of giving a small, half-hearted sigh and agreeing with a rueful grin like Dean expected him to, Sam pursed his lips, eyeing up his older brother suspiciously for a moment before looking between Cheyenne and Jess. "Can you two excuse us for just a second?"

Dean followed his lead as Sam walked into the front room, a little confused. That same hostility from when Sam had first arrived was back, the same edge in his voice.  "Okay, what the hell's gotten into you? What's with this warm and fuzzy ecstasy trip crap? Why are you angling to become best friends all of a sudden?"

Dean paused for a moment, blindsided. Sam was staring at him like he was a stranger, looking so cold and disapproving that it almost hurt. "Because you're... You're my brother, man."

"'You're my brother'?" Sam echoes disparagingly, giving a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, sure. That's the same thing you said when you snaked my ATM card, or when you bailed on my graduation, or when you hooked up with Rachel Nave."

"Who?"

Sam pursed his lips until they all but disappeared, the muscles in his jaw and neck virtually popping out in frustration. "My prom date. On prom  _night_."

Dean considered that possibility for a split second. It did sound like something he'd do. "Well, listen man, I-"

Sam interrupted him with a brief wave of the hand, which seemed to hurt more than anything he'd said up until that point. "Dean man, just save it. I'm not expecting some big change out of you, I stopped waiting for that a long time ago." He paused, considering his next words before shrugging listlessly. "I guess we just... Don't have all that much in common."

He didn't even give Dean the chance for a rebuttal, backing out of the room swiftly before he had time to protest. For a moment, Dean just stood there in shock, trying to process. He and Sam never went Hunting in this life, so Sam went off to Law School while he hung around in Kansas, drinking beer and fixing up cars. He knew that they'd become closer when Sam had started Hunting again, but was that  _really_  all they had in common? Just that one frail connection? 

Dean sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his hair and mussing it up a little, frowning accusingly at the spot of carpet Sam had vacated as if it were to blame for what had happened, before joining Cheyenne in the hallway and walking back to the car in silence. Suddenly all of his elation from dinner had evaporated like he was a balloon that someone had let the air out of. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"What's wrong?" Cheyenne asked quietly. Dean lifted his head a little from where it was buried in his hands, looking up enough to see her. He'd been silent on the drive home from his mom's house, visibly deflated after the conversation with Sam, and although they'd both crawled into bed together, as soon as Cheyenne was asleep Dean got up and sat alone in the front room to think. At some point, she must have woken up and realised he was gone, wandered out to look for him, and found him sat in the darkness on his own. 

"You should be asleep." He mumbled. "You need to rest, you're-"

"Pregnant, not an invalid." She interrupted, reaching down to slide her fingers into his hair. "You can't sleep, hm?"

He couldn't lie to her. Not when she was looking at him like that, her face flush with concern, her eyebrows pulled together in a gentle frown. Not when she was running her fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head like that, with that tenderness that damn-near made him  _melt_. "No."

"You want to talk about it? I'll make you a grilled cheese," She leaned in with a faint smile. "With four kinds of cheese."

"That's still your signature dish, huh?" He laughed despite the lingering anxiety about the conversation with Sam. Ever since they'd first met, a Four-Cheese-Grilled-Cheese was Cheyenne's go-to meal when she was tired or stressed, or when Dean was whining that her cupboards were empty. (Generally, they were empty because he snacked nearly constantly, and she didn't always remember to restock after one of his visits.) It was something she kept making when they Hunted; on more than one occasion he and Sam had woken up to the smell of melting cheese at two in the morning when she couldn't sleep, and they'd both wandered into the kitchenette of whatever motel they were holed up in with hopeful expressions on their faces. 

"Has been since college." She grinned. Dean was tempted to take her up on the offer - after Sam's cold brush-off earlier he kind of just wanted something familiar - but instead, he grabbed her hand, tugging her down onto the couch beside him. 

"Tell me about how we first met." He said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Cheyenne laughed, shaking her head slowly. 

"Okay, what's gotten into you today? Do you have low blood sugar or something? Are you  _sure_  you don't want me to make you something to eat?" She made to stand up, but Dean tugged her back down insistently. " _Dean_! What is up with you?"

She was still laughing, but stopped when she saw the expression on his face. He couldn't hide it; he couldn't hide the disappointment after his conversation with Sam. He'd seen Sam angry at him before, thought for a while that his younger brother hated him but this was a new kind of torture. Sam just didn't... Feel anything towards him any more. He just didn't  _care_.

"Sammy and I..." He began, sighing. "We don't get along."

"Is that what you were so upset about in the car home? Did he say something to you?" She asked quickly, and Dean recognised the sharp edge to her voice, getting defensive on his behalf. 

"No." He said quickly resting his hand over hers to reassure her. "It's just... I don't know... I guess I'm a crappy brother."

Cheyenne sighed, reaching out with her free hand to cup his cheek, stroking the pad of her thumb over his cheekbone slowly, almost rhythmically to soothe him. "You're not a crappy brother. You're a bit of an asshole, I'll admit-" He didn't laugh at her teasing, and she shot him an apologetic look before continuing. "You're just different people. Sam's always been a little more... Mature, I guess. But hey, maybe with everything that's going to be happening you two will have something to bond over. I mean, he's going to be an Uncle, he and Jess are going to get married...  _We're_  going to get married at some point."

Dean sighed, resting his head on her shoulder as he murmured something that sounded vaguely like he was agreeing with her. "Can you talk to me about how we met? I just... Like the way you tell it."

It was a lie. In all honesty, he wanted to know how much of this not-so-perfect existence aligned with the life he already knew, and given that he and Cheyenne had only met because of his Hunting he was curious to know how they'd met in this version of his life. 

"I was at Stanford with Sam and Jess..." She began, threading her fingers into his hair as she spoke, her voice gentle like she was reading a story from a book. "You were down to visit Sam for the weekend, and we met when you were picking him up from the library. You fed me the worst line ever, something about the coffee you were drinking..." She paused, smiling gently. "I think it was something like... 'The only thing hotter than my coffee is you'..."

He chuckled, nuzzling into her neck. That definitely sounded like the kind of dumb pickup line he'd used on her before. 

"And then you 'forgot' to pick Sam up..." She laughed. "And we ended up back at my apartment. Which was great and all, until you realised that my roommate was your brother's girlfriend, which made for an awkward revelation when Jess brought him back..."

"Sam was pissed that I never picked him up, right?"

"That's a fairly accurate description, yeah." She conceded.

So she'd shared an apartment with Jess now. That was how they'd met, not because he was passing through town on a Hunt. 

"What about Ana?" He asked hesitantly. Cheyenne looked at him for a moment, confusion blossoming across her face. 

"Who's Ana?"

Dean jerked back to look at her properly, the movement almost reflexive. That wasn't right. Cheyenne - his Cheyenne - loved Ana more than anything. She still couldn't look at Dahlias because it was too painful to do so, still couldn't mention Austin without tearing up a little. The woman in front of him had no idea who Ana Garcia was though. She'd never heard that warm laughter, had never faced the gentle teasing. They'd never gossiped across the kitchen, never complained about their shared boyfriend troubles. Ana had never scooped Cheyenne off the floor and cleaned her up after her breakup with Dean, because there had never been a breakup with Dean to get over. 

Suddenly, Dean didn't feel quite as warm and fuzzy about the woman sat next to him, the woman who looked so much like the one he loved but just fell a little short of being the real thing. He felt that same uneasy, sick sensation in his gut that he'd felt back at Mary's house as he looked at her, saw that same concern as earlier on her face. 

"I'm going to fix you something to eat." She said quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before standing up. Cheyenne turned the TV on for background noise, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze and disappearing into the kitchen while Dean sat back against the couch, musing over the past few hours. Was this necessarily better than his old life? His mom and Jess were alive, Cheyenne was pregnant but... At what cost?

He didn't have a family, not really. He had blood relatives - a mom and a brother - but they weren't  _family_. They didn't talk, didn't care about each other. They certainly didn't care about him. Cheyenne's life was different too - maybe she hadn't gone through the childhood that left her mentally and physically scarred, but was this reality right? Was it kinder that she'd never known the most important friend she'd ever had, instead of having to lose them in the most painful way?

As Dean sat there on the couch, brow furrowing as he thought, the news bulletin that flashed on the screen caught his eye. It was a memorial update, marking the one year anniversary of  _United Britannia Flight 424_  - the Indianapolis vigil in remembrance of the eight hundred people killed on the flight is set for 3PM on Thursday, which is the time the flight lost contact and went down. More on that later, but first..."

Dean stopped listening as the newscaster moved on to the next story, staring in horror at the graphic on the screen of a 747. Flight 424. He'd been on that plane a year ago, he'd  _stopped_  that crash. 

Something was really, seriously wrong.


	48. Chapter 48

_"You know, I think I was wrong about you."_

_"Oh yeah? In a good way or a bad way?"_

_"Good way." She smiled gently at him over the rim of her coffee cup. "You're good for her, you know."_

Dean laid awake, staring at the ceiling in the weak early morning light. He'd spent most of the night before looking at old cases that he and Sam had worked together, only to discover a string of tragedies and accidents that he'd at one point in his life prevented. A trail of death had followed him when he'd finally closed the laptop and crawled into bed next to Cheyenne, poisoning his dreams and waking him up early with a start. He'd been awake for hours now, just staring blankly at the ceiling as he thought about everything that must have been sacrificed to get him to where he was. 

Including Ana. 

She and Jake had never died. Cheyenne had never gone to Wisconsin, had never met them and had never met Eloise, so the chain of events that triggered Eloise's spirit targeting and killing them had never happened. After some research on Facebook, Dean found out that Ana and George were still together, and Jake had found a girlfriend. They were alive and happy, but it felt kind of perverse to think that Cheyenne - this Cheyenne laying next to him - wouldn't even care if he told her. 

He hadn't thought about Ana for a long time. Cheyenne still thought about her a lot - every so often he'd catch her touching the red bracelet he'd bought her to replace Ana's one, or he'd see her looking at the photograph of the two of them that she kept tucked into her wallet. For Dean though, Ana hadn't been much more than another tragic victim of the supernatural; it had been too difficult to try and think of her as anything more than that. 

Oddly enough, he hadn't realised how much he missed her until now. Until Cheyenne  _didn't_  miss her. Ana had always been fiercly protective of her best friend, always a little hesitant around Dean. She admitted to Dean about six months after he and Cheyenne had begun seeing each other that she'd thought for a long time that he was going to end up hurting Cheyenne, but the more time she'd spent with him, the less she'd believed that. She'd told him that one morning over coffees, early on a Saturday before Cheyenne was awake, and Dean had felt an odd swell of pride in his chest at her words - it was the closest he was going to get to support from her about the relationship. 

Now though, in this new reality that had sprung up out of his fantasies, that conversation had never taken place. She'd never teased him quietly, never admitted that she was glad he and Cheyenne were together, never yelled at him through the bathroom door when he was taking too long in the shower. She existed, she had a life and a family and all of the same hobbies and interests she always had done, but she'd never met Cheyenne. And that hurt more than Dean imagined that it could have. 

He didn't remember making the conscious choice to get out of bed and get dressed, nor did he distinctly remember deciding to drive to Mary's house, break in and go rifling through the silver. His body had reacted on autopilot, making decisions for him without him even really registering it until he was stood in Mary's front room with a silver knife clutched in his hand. Of course, that was the moment that Sam came downstairs and into the front room, catching him stuffing the knife into his pocket. 

"Dean?" He looked at him in confusion for a moment, before realising what he was doing. An expression that sat somewhere between disappointment and annoyance appeared on his face. "Are you stealing mom's silver?"

"It's not what it looks like." 

"Really?" He snapped, crossing the room until they were inches apart. "Because it looks like you broke into your own mother's house in the middle of the night to  _steal her silver_."

Dean paused, looking down at the knife in his hands for a moment. "Okay, so maybe it _is_ what it looks like."

"Dean!" His younger brother let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. "What the Hell is going on?"

He thought about it for a moment, weighing his options. He had a nearly perfect life here with his family. He was going to be a father, he could have the relationship with his Mom that he'd always wanted. Sure, things weren't great with Sam right now, but that was fixable, surely. And yet, even though he'd been given the life he'd dreamed of having, safe and happy with the people that he loved, Dean was turning his back on it. He was going to try and hunt down the Djinn that had done this - maybe killing it would set things right. 

"Can't tell you that, Sammy." He said quietly, frowning. "I'm sorry, really I am. I wish I could stay here and make things right with you, but I can't do it."

With that, he pushed past his younger brother and walked outside, taking the steps two at a time and racing back to the Impala, which he'd parked across the street. Dean's heart pounded as he slid into the driver's seat, his forefinger gently stroking the silver blade in his pocket. If he killed the Djinn, he would be saying goodbye to this life, to this peace, and dooming them all back to the pain and uncertainty that they were trying to get away from so desperately. It wasn't just about them, though. It was about all the people they'd saved, who were dead now. It was about all those missed birthdays, friends who weren't at parties, parents who never came home. He'd spent his whole life saving people, but now it was like he'd never existed. 

The passenger side door opened with a low creak, and the front bench seat sank a little under Sam's weight as he slid into the car, surprising Dean. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know what you're getting yourself into," Sam sighed, closing the door behind him. "But you're my brother. So I'm coming with you."

Dean stared at him for a moment, taken aback. For a second, just a second, he sounded like the old Sam, his brother who he Hunted with. The man who had his back no matter what, the one he knew would die for him in a heartbeat. Dean couldn't help the rueful grin that spread across his face. "Bitch."

Just like that, the familiarity was gone. Sam frowned at him, looking confused. "Why are you calling me a bitch?"

Dean faltered. "Y-you're supposed to say jerk."

There was a beat of silence while the two brothers stared at each other, Sam looking confused while Dean could only roll his eyes. 

"Never mind."

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they reached the warehouse in Illinois hours later, Sam had fallen asleep. They'd driven four hours, so long that the sky was just starting to get light on the horizon by the time they pulled up. After his younger brother had fallen asleep in the seat beside him, Dean had decided to make the last few stops necessary to gather what he needed for the Djinn, assuming that it was better if Sam didn't know about the Lamb's blood that was necessary. 

Dean jostled his younger brother's shoulder, and he jolted awake with a snort, looking over at him blearily. "Dean? Where are we?"

"We're not in Kansas any more." He joked. When that didn't elicit so much as a small smile from Sam, he sighed, giving him the real answer. "Illinois."

"Why Illinois? What's in here?"

Dean got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. "Something bad. Trust me, Sam. You don't want to come in here with me, you could get hurt."

Surprisingly, Sam didn't listen to his warning. Instead, he followed his older brother out of the car, joining him as they walked towards the entrance of the factory. Dean cast him an uncertain glance, but before he could protest, Sam cut him off. "I'm not letting you go in there alone, so don't even bother trying to stop me."

The one comforting thing about this entire shit-show, Dean decided as he pushed open the door to the warehouse, was that  _this_  Sam was just as stubborn as always. Thank God for small miracles. 

The factory was dark, just as it had been when Dean had made his way through the first time. Every surface that they passed by was covered in a thick layer of dust, and heavy cobwebs hung from the dark corners of the ceiling. Dean made his way through the abandoned offices slowly, weary for any noise to indicate the Djinn was around while Sam stuck close behind him, virtually pressed against Dean's side. 

They crept through a dark hallway, checking offices periodically for any signs of movements, until they reached the factory floor. Suspended by her wrists from the ceiling was a young girl, her skin so pale it was almost grey, her dark hair matted to her forehead from sweat. As Sam and Dean got closer, Dean realised he recognised her; it was the girl he'd spotted so briefly in the restaurant, looking even worse now than she had done earlier. 

"Dean..." Sam breathed, his voice shaking. "What the Hell is going on here?"

Dean was thinking the same thing himself. How had he seen this girl in the restaurant if she'd been tied up here, five hundred miles away? How had he spotted her when no-one else had been able to see her?

"Dean, we need to leave..." Sam hissed from behind him. He ignored his younger brother, walking towards the young girl instead, who was moaning something under her breath. 

"Dad?"

Dean cupped her cheeks, trying to tilt her head up to look at him. "Hey, can you hear me?"

The young girl's face contorted in pain as she blinked up at him a few times. "Dad? Where's my Dad? Who are you?"

" _Dean_!" Sam grabbed his sleeve, tugging on it hard to get his attention. "We have to get the Hell out of here. Now. I don't know what's going on, but we _have_  to leave."

Dean looked from the young woman to his brother, his mind racing. That woman in front of him, the one who was so weak she could barely talk, didn't have any idea where she was; she _thought_ she was with her father. She was sedated, so much so that she couldn't even move, and as Dean examined her it looked like she had a tube sticking out of her neck, connected to a blood bag that was slowly filling. 

"What if it doesn't grant wishes?" He whispered, more to himself than to Sam. It would make sense - if the Djinn knocked its victims out cold, tied them up and drugged them, making them think that they were living in the perfect world to keep them sedated while it bled them dry. It would explain why he'd seen this woman earlier - a flash of reality from his subconscious, trying to kick him awake.

"What?" Sam hissed, looking around the factory frantically for any signs of danger. When he turned back to Dean, he found his older brother eyeing him up suspiciously. "Dean, what's wrong with you?"

"You're not real." He breathed, his heart breaking at the realisation. None of this had been real, not Jess, not his mom, not Cheyenne's pregnancy. None of it.

Before Sam could protest, he pulled the knife out of his pocket, flipping it in his hands so that the blade was pointed at his stomach. "Woah, Dean..."

"Old wives tale." He croaked, his hand shaking a little as he gripped the knife tightly. "If you die in a dream, you wake up in real life."

"Dean, this is crazy!" He cried out desperately, taking another small step towards him. "You're gonna kill yourself."

"Or I'll wake up." He wasn't certain that this would work, but he was sure enough. This wasn't real, this wasn't his life. With a shaking hand, he raised the knife, ready to plunge it into his stomach. 

"Stop!" Sam screamed, the desperation in his voice causing Dean to pause for a second, the knife inches from his skin. He met Sam's gaze, surprised by his expression. Only moments before he'd looked scared, frantic. Now he looked almost sad, like he pitied him.

"Why did you have to keep digging?" He whispered. "Why, Dean? Why couldn't you just let yourself be happy?"

From out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Jess step out of the shadows, and then on his left Mary appeared, dressed in the same white nightgown he'd seen her in when she'd appeared as a spirit to him and Sam two years earlier. Cheyenne appeared behind Sam, walking closer to join him. 

She met his gaze with those big, sad eyes that he'd seen a hundred times before. She looked so worried, so concerned for him in a way you could only manage if you loved a person. She looked so  _real_ , standing there in front of him. But she wasn't. This wasn't real, as much as he wanted it to be.

"None of you are real." He croaked, his voice shaking with tears. 

"Does that matter?" Mary asked, walking towards him slowly until they were less than a foot apart. "Isn't this better than your life out there? We're a family now, Dean, all of us together just like you wanted."

"But the Djinn..." He whispered, shaking his head slowly. "It'll drain the life out of me in a few days. It'll bleed me dry."

"But in here, it'll feel like a life time," Mary assured him, her voice gentle and warm. With one hand, she reached up and cupped Dean's cheek, her fingertips ghosting over his cheekbone. It was so comforting, so inviting, and it had been all Dean had wanted for twenty years, but now he was turning his back on it. 

"You won't have to worry about Sam any more," Jessica assured him, crossing the room to join Sam. He wound an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close while they looked over at Dean. "We're going to grow old together, be happy. Like we were supposed to."

A sharp pain rang through Dean at the thought of finally being able to watch Sam get the life he deserved, with the girl and the car and the house that he'd always wanted. It was the life he was headed towards until Dean had showed up at his house that night. 

"This is what we wanted." Cheyenne was beside him now, looking up at him with that bright, hopeful smile. "We wanted a normal life together, Dean. We can have that now."

He stared at her hopelessly as she took his left hand and dragged it over to her stomach, pushing the palm of his hand flat against her belly. "Don't you want to have a family with me?"

"Yes." He croaked past hot tears that were threatening to spill over. "You know I do."

"We deserve to be happy together, don't we?" She whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek while Mary took a step to the side, observing them emotionlessly. "There doesn't have to be any more pain, any more fighting. We don't have to wait until the Demon is dead... We can start our family, Dean. I know you've been thinking about kids. I know you've been dreaming about it. And I know you're scared that I won't want kids, but you don't have to be afraid of that any more. We can have that family that you want, right here and now."

Dean felt sick. She was saying all of the right things, all of the words he wanted to hear, but he knew it wasn't real. He knew she wasn't  _his_  Cheyenne. 

"Come home with me, Dean." She whispered, stroking his cheek. Every instinct in his body, the part of him that craved a normal life with her, wanted nothing more than to follow her out of here. But he knew that he couldn't do that. He knew that it wouldn't be real, and that _his_  Cheyenne would have to watch him die in the real world if he didn't try and wake up. 

"I can't do that." He croaked, gripping the knife tighter in his sweaty palm. "I'm so sorry."

She didn't have time to protest before he plunged the knife into his stomach, surprised at the lack of pain as the blade sank through his skin and into his gut. 

_"Dean!"_


	49. Chapter 49

Dean's eyes sprang open like someone had shocked him, and he gasped in a lungful of air, like a drowning man breaking water. Sam and Cheyenne were stood in front of him, shaking his shoulders desperately to try and rouse him, their faces blurred. He blinked a few times to try and clear his vision, bringing them back into focus. 

"Dean!" Cheyenne breathed. "Oh thank God..."

"Chey?" He groaned, straining against the rope that bound him. "Where am I? The Djinn..."

"It's okay," She soothed, shushing him gently when she pulled something sharp out of his neck. As Sam cut the ropes around his wrists, Cheyenne tossed it aside with a grimace. Dean's arms burned as the rope went slack, and he stumbled forwards into Sam, who caught him easily. 

"We've got you, man." He assured him, as Cheyenne helped him take a few steps forwards. Dean eyed her up, a little confused. The last time they'd spoken, she'd been in Sioux Falls. 

"How..?"

"Got on a plane after you decided to do something stupid like Hunt a Djinn alone." She chided gently, worry contorting her face into a frown. "Rented a car and drove straight from the airport."

He managed a weak smile for her as she helped him lean against the nearby wall. "That's my girl."

Sam left them to go to the young woman who was tied up next to Dean - the same woman he'd seen when he'd been under the Djinn's spell. She looked even weaker than when he'd last seen her - her skin was almost grey it was so pale, and her chest rose and fell with raggedy, rough breaths. "We need to leave... The Djinn..."

"Don't worry about the Djinn." Sam assured him as he cut down the young woman, hefting her in his arms as if she weighed nothing before turning back to Cheyenne and Dean. "We took care of it."

Sure enough, as the four of them made their way out of the warehouse, they came across the crumpled body of the Djinn, a silver knife protruding from his chest. Cheyenne stepped over it gingerly, helping Dean around it as they headed for the exit. 

"That your handiwork?" He asked. She managed a small smile, catching his eye as they headed towards the Impala. A silver rental was parked beside it.

"Perhaps." She admitted, helping Sam ease the young girl into the rental before handing him the keys. "Are you going to take her to the Hospital?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "She looks like she lost a lot of blood, but hopefully she'll be okay."

"I'll take him back to the motel." Cheyenne jerked her thumb in Dean's direction. "Get him cleaned up and then get him some sleep."

"Sounds good. I'll see you guys later." He shot them a quick wave before sliding into the driver's seat, checking that the young girl was properly secured in her seat before driving off in the direction of the hospital. Cheyenne turned back to her own patient, smiling gently at the sight of him leaning against the Impala. 

"I can't help but feel like you deserve this, you know." She commented, getting into the passenger's seat of the car. Even as battered as he looked, and as shitty as he felt, there was no way Dean was letting someone else drive his precious Impala, not even her. 

"Yeah, yeah." He mimicked good-naturedly. "I should listen to you more often."

"Yes," She deadpanned, glaring at him as the Impala rumbled to life. "You  _should_."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"How're you feeling?" Cheyenne asked, perching on the edge of the bed and stroking a few stray strands back from his forehead. After Dean had cleaned himself up she'd helped him into a pair of boxers and left him in bed while she went to shower. She'd expected him to be fast asleep when she got out, but he was just staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. "Djinn juice is a bitch, I've heard."

"You heard right." He murmured, reaching up to lace his fingers in hers. For a moment they just sat there in silence together, before Cheyenne kicked off her sneakers and climbed into bed with him, resting her head on his chest. Dean's hand rested against the back of her head, thinking about how best to phrase what he wanted to say. 

"I was thinking we could go down to Austin for a few days."

Cheyenne tensed up, her muscles locking underneath her shirt as she felt her heart race. She hadn't been back down to Austin since Ana's funeral, as guilty as that made her feel. The boys had worked a case down there a few months earlier, but Cheyenne had made an excuse about being busy to avoid joining them. It was still too difficult to head down there, to go to the cemetery to see her instead of to her house. Somehow, it was like it would make things  _too_  real, having to make that trip. 

She'd even put off going down to Austin on the anniversary of Ana's death. She'd thought about it, even packed her car to head down, but she'd chickened out a the last minute, and had spent the night alone in a motel in Oklahoma instead. The next morning she'd turned around and headed back up to Bobby's, avoiding any questions about where she'd been. 

She couldn't put it off any longer, though. It had been over a year since Ana and Jake had been gone, and Cheyenne couldn't stay away forever, but still the thought of standing in front of Ana's grave made her want to throw up and start crying, just like the night George had phoned her to tell her what had happened. Slowly, she tilted her head up to meet Dean's gaze, to find him looking down at her patiently. He was waiting for her answer, but she didn't need to speak. He could see the anxiety all over her face.

"I..." She couldn't. She couldn't go there, couldn't stand in front of her grave. It was too much, too real for her to handle.

"It's okay," Dean pushed her hair back from her face with one hand, sliding his fingers into her hair properly. "You don't have to say yes if you're not ready. I just... Figured I should check."

He offered her a small, tired smile before laying back properly, his eyes drifting closed. Cheyenne watched him for a moment, biting her lip as she tried to resist the urge to ask the question that had been burning on her lips since they'd found him at the warehouse. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" He didn't open his eyes, but she knew he was listening. 

"You managed to snap yourself out of the Djinn dream." She said quietly, resting her chin on his chest as she gazed up at him. "How?"

"Stabbed myself in the stomach. Figured it was like how you wake up when you die in a dream." He said simply, shrugging. 

"Why?"

Dean's eyes opened at that, but he didn't look down at her. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling, eyes a little unfocused. "It wasn't real."

"But how did you know? I thought it was supposed to be this paradise world, absolutely perfect?"

"It wasn't." He said quietly. "It just... I got a wish granted. That was all."

"And what did you wish for?" She knew she was treading on dangerous ground now, digging at some of Dean's most private dreams, but it was difficult to resist asking about. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer, but slowly he reached up with one hand to trace circles on her shoulder blade before speaking. 

"I wished for Mom to be alive," He began. "And I wished that we had..."

He trailed off, inhaling shakily before continuing. "You were pregnant."

Cheyenne paused, lifting her head a little to look at him. Dean swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing high in his throat. He still wasn't looking at her, focusing on the ceiling instead. "Is that what you want?"

Dean blinked a few times rapidly without looking at her, as if he was trying to figure out the right way to answer her, trying to figure out an answer he thought she wanted to hear. "Maybe."

Cheyenne shuffled up on the bed a little, propping herself up on her elbow and cupping his cheek with her free hand to force him to look at her. "Dean?"

His eyes flickered from the ceiling to her face finally, his expression betraying him before he could even speak. "Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She whispered, relief flooding over her like a wave. For months, she'd been keeping quiet about wanting children. Since first thinking about it that morning at her house in Oregon it had been playing on her mind over and over again, each time seeming more realistic and less like a distant pipe dream. 

Dean looked a little uncomfortable, but after a moment of shifting underneath her, he spoke. “I didn’t know if… After what you went through… You’d want it.”

“I didn’t.” She admitted, the corner of her mouth twitching into a semi-smile. “For a long time I didn’t want kids. I was terrified of turning out like my parents…”

“But now?” He asked, his voice hopeful. Green eyes flickered across her face rapidly, trying to gauge her reaction before she spoke. Cheyenne couldn’t help it as her smile stretched into a full-blown grin. 

“Can you imagine how cute our kids would be, Dean?” She asked, her voice soft as she smiled at him. "With your eyes and freckles..."

Dean could feel his heart pounding uncomfortably fast in his chest, until he could feel it in his elbows, in his throat and until he could hear it thudding in his ears. The thought of having children, of starting a family with Cheyenne had been a dirty little secret of his, a fantasy he hadn't dare breath a word of to anyone, let alone her. What if she hadn't wanted children? What if everything that had happened with her parents had scared her off the idea, and bringing it up would ruin things between them?

It was more than that, though. Dean had worries - serious worries - of turning out like John. He didn't want to. He didn't want to be that cold and distant, treating his child like a soldier rather than the little kid that they were, but he didn't know any different. How were parents supposed to act? What were they supposed to say and do? How would he know what to do when the time came?

"You want... You'd want that?" He whispered hesitantly, almost not wanting her to answer in case she just changed her mind and said no. 

"Dean, I love you." She whispered earnestly, her fingers sliding into his short hair. "And sure, Hunting with you and Sam is exciting, but it's not what I want to do forever, you know that. You know that when everything with the Demon is finished I want to get out with you."

"Well yeah," He shrugged, running one hand up and down her arm slowly. "But that doesn't mean you'd want kids and stuff..."

Cheyenne pressed a gentle kiss to his chest, just above his heart as she moved up onto her knees so she could lean over him, grinning. "Do you want to talk about what we're going to do when we get out?"

It was what they did, what they had been doing for months now. When they were stressed from a difficult hunt, or they'd driven through the night and were lazing around in a shitty motel because they couldn't sleep, this was what they did. But they'd never talked about kids before. 

Dean smiled, nodding slowly up at her. "Yeah."

Cheyenne kissed above his heart again, leaning down so that her chest was flush against his and she was close enough to nuzzle into his neck. "We're going to go on a road trip."

"Yeah?" He said quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist to secure her to him, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. "Where?"

"Everywhere." Cheyenne whispered, tracing figure-of-eights on his shoulder as she nuzzled into the spot where his shoulder met his throat. "I want to get lost with you, just start driving and see where the road takes us. No jobs, no plans, no stress Just you, me and the radio."

"Just us..." He breathed.

"Just us." She smiled into his throat. "And then maybe we'll find somewhere when we're out on the road. Somewhere quiet, peaceful... A little town where we can just disappear, where no one has to know who we are or where we've come from. We can buy a house, it doesn't have to be big... Just big enough."

Dean swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

"It'll have a big yard though. Maybe if we go up north it can back out onto the forest, or onto a stream. We'll have a porch so we can watch the sun rise together." She placed a butterfly light kiss to his throat. "Just like in Oregon. Did you like doing that, Dean?"

"Yes." He whispered, his grip on her waist tightening just a little. "Yeah."

"Good." Another kiss, with just a little more pressure this time. "So did I. I can't wait to do that with you every morning, Dean."

"You can't?"

"Of course I can't." She nuzzled him lovingly, smiling against the warm skin of his neck. "And maybe in a few years, when we're settled..."

His heart was pounding in his chest again, so loudly he was  _sure_  she must have been able to hear it. "When we're settled?"

"How many kids do you want?" She whispered, her lips peppering gentle kisses over his skin, up to the stubble on his jaw. "Two?"

He nodded slowly, not quite trusting himself to speak properly. She didn't need him to, because she carried on anyway, her left hand sliding into his cropped hair so she could run her fingers through it soothingly. "Boys or girls?"

"I don't care." His voice shook a little, and he turned his head to the side so he could try to look at her. She pulled back a little to meet his gaze, smiling gently at him. His eyes were wider than normal, and if she didn't know any better she'd say he looked... Scared. She wasn't sure what he was scared of, but it was an expression she wasn't really used to seeing on his face. 

"Are you okay?" She propped herself up on one arm, stroking his cheek with her free hand. "You still with me?"

"I never thought I'd have this." He whispered. "Thought I'd be dead before I ever got here."

"Well," She leaned down to kiss him properly, smiling against his lips as both of his arms wrapped around her waist. "You're not dying on my watch, you got that?"

"Yes ma'am." His nose bumped against hers gently, and she heard a familiar chuckle, that light teasing note to his voice that she loved listening to. 

"I love you so much, Dean."

He bumped his forehead to hers as he kissed her again, savouring the feeling of her against him for a few moments. This was real, this was right. This was  _his_  Cheyenne, and she loved him just as much as he loved her. She'd been a part of his life for four years now, even though it felt like he'd known her a lot longer. This was where he was supposed to be, lying on a cheap motel bed with her in his arms, not in some fantasy world that a Djinn had built out of his dreams. 

"I love you too." He let go of her waist to cup her face with both hands, looking up at her in the semi-darkness of the motel room. This was the woman he loved, this was the woman he wanted to grow old with. Not just that - this was the woman he wanted to grow old  _for_. He didn't want to die young, go out in a blaze of heroic glory like he'd always thought he would. He wanted to get the life he'd watched so many other people have. He wanted the white picket fence, he wanted the apple-pie live. 

And more than anything, he wanted it with her. 

"I love you so much." He whispered, leaning up a little to kiss her again, his arms wrapping back around her waist to pull her against him. Cheyenne breathed his name softly, her lips brushing against his as she spoke, and he could only groan hers in response, rolling them easily so she was on her back beneath him.

While Dean rolled his hips against hers, listening to her breathless moans in his ear, the pain from before melted away like he was on the strongest drugs known to man. His touch against her skin was featherlight, like he was afraid she'd break under his hands, and she clung to him like she was afraid of ever letting go. It was everything they needed; unspoken promises of their love, promises that nothing could come between them, and in that moment, Dean felt safer than he had ever done before. 

They laid awake together afterwards, curled up in each others arms breathless and sweaty as their heartbeats slowed. Cheyenne was the first to speak. 

"What would you name them?"

"Hm?" Dean had been drawing circles on her shoulder, but they stopped when he heard her voice. 

"Kids." She kissed his chest gently. "Names."

There was a pause, and now that the room was completely dark Cheyenne couldn't see Dean's face, but she knew he seemed a little uncomfortable. "I... There's only one."

He didn't have to say it out loud. She knew exactly what it was, she could tell from how tense he'd gotten, the way he held his breath before speaking, the way his fingertips had stilled against her skin. It was Mary. The only name he'd ever really want to pass on was Mary. 

"If we have a girl." She kissed him gently, smiling against his lips. "I'd love that."

"You would?" He sounded a little surprised. 

"Of course I would." She rested her head on his shoulder, eyes slipping closed as she settled against him. It didn't matter that the sheets were scratchy and smelt vaguely like bleach, it didn't matter that they'd spotted mould in the corner of the ceiling when they'd arrived, and it didn't matter that there was a disturbing stain on the carpet by the door - she wouldn't trade being there in bed with him for anything. 

"G'night, Dean." She whispered, smiling gently as she felt his lips press gently to the top of her head. 

"G'night, Chey." He breathed into her hair, his eyes falling closed as he listened to her steady breathing.


	50. Chapter 50

Cheyenne was stood in her room at Bobby's, staring out of the window. Outside, she could see all the things that she normally did - hunks of scrap metal ripped from cars and bikes, lazily trailing weeds that snaked up the path to the front door, scattered bits of junk that Bobby had collected and never discarded. Everything was in its place, just as normal, but as she looked Cheyenne realised something was off. The scene was too bright, the colours too vivid - it almost looked like someone had thrown a switch and turned up the saturation. Somewhere distantly, Cheyenne heard a baby crying. 

She was dreaming, she realised with a start. None of this was real, it was all just the product of her overactive imagination.

Somewhere inside the house, Cheyenne could still hear crying, so she turned away from the window and headed to the door, deciding to find the source of the noise. She put her hand on the doorknob and twisted it slowly, pulling the door open and expecting to find the landing of Bobby's house, but when she stepped out of her bedroom she was in a different hallway, one no less familiar to her than the Singer house. 

It was the upstairs hallway of her childhood home. 

For some reason though, Cheyenne didn't feel nervous or uneasy as she wandered down the corridor in search of the source of the crying, coming to a stop at the end of the corridor in front of her childhood bedroom. Inside, she could still hear a baby wailing, but she could also hear a voice. A woman's voice, soft and gentle as it tried to soothe the child. 

Cheyenne pushed the door open slowly, peering into the room which was only lit by the sliver of light filtering through the drawn curtains. The room looked the same as it had done for most of her childhood, except now, in the place her bed normally stood, Cheyenne could see a bassinet. A woman was crouched over it, her dark hair slipping from where it rested on her shoulder and dangling into the crib as she cooed over the baby. 

"Shush... It's okay." She said softly, reaching one hand into the crib as the baby's cries died out into soft whimpers, before fading altogether. Cheyenne recognised her voice, but she couldn't figure out where from. 

She approached the woman, extending an arm to tap her on the shoulder. Before she could get to her, though, she heard a voice behind her. "Mommy?"

Cheyenne turned on the spot at the noise. In the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the hallway, was a young boy. He couldn't have been older than four or five, stood in front of her in pyjamas that were a little too long in the leg. A stuffed bear hung precariously from one chubby fist, dangling by his side as he stared up at her. 

"Are you okay, sweetie?" She heard herself ask. The little boy shook his head, screwing his face up with the effort of trying to stop himself from crying. He balled up his free hand into a fist, rubbing it into his eye as if that would stop the tears, but it was useless. Cheyenne heard the pitiful whimper a moment later, so she dropped into a crouch in front of him, peering up at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nightmare, mommy." He whined, sniffling into his sleeve. Cheyenne pulled him into her arms before she even realised what she was doing, hugging him tightly and soothing him with a gentle kiss to his cheek. 

"You want to sleep with me and daddy?" She heard herself suggest, stroking dark blond hair back from the little boy's forehead. He nodded eagerly, blinking bright green eyes rapidly as a small smile appeared on his lips. His tears from before were already forgotten as he wrapped his arms around her neck. Cheyenne lifted him easily; the boy weighed nothing in her arms as she carried him out of the bedroom and down the hallway, her feet guiding her without her knowing where to go. His arms wound around her neck tightly, securing himself to her as his head came to rest on her shoulder. 

Cheyenne paused as she reached the last door down the hall, her hand on the doorknob, ready to open it. Something made her stop, something she saw out of the corner of her eye. With the little boy still in her arms, she turned to look back the way she'd come, and sure enough there was a figure stood by the door she'd walked out of. It was the same woman as before, her dark hair obscuring her face as she looked into the bedroom, her body turned at such an angle that Cheyenne couldn't make out any features.

"Who is that, mommy?" The little boy asked. Cheyenne wished she could answer him, but although she felt sure that she knew the figure, she couldn't say for sure where she knew her from. 

As if the woman had heard them, she lifted her head a little, slowly starting to turn towards them until she was looking directly at them. For some reason, though, Cheyenne couldn't make out her face clearly, so she was just an anonymous figure in the distance, staring at her. 

_"Why?"_

The word didn't come from the woman opposite her, nor did it come from the boy Cheyenne was cradling so gently, but instead it was a whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and no-where. As she glanced around the hallway, Cheyenne couldn't pinpoint where it had come from. 

"Why what?" She called to no-one in particular, but she didn't get a response.

Before she could, Cheyenne woke with a start to Bobby shaking her shoulder, waking her up by calling her name sharply. She winced against the bright sunlight that flooded her room, throwing up a hand to shield her eyes as the older Hunter called her name one more time. "I'm  _awake_ , Bobby. Jesus Christ... The hell is your problem, huh?"

"Sam's missing." He said bluntly, giving her no time to properly wake up before dropping a bombshell that probably would have been taken better had Cheyenne actually been fully conscious. It took her still half-asleep brain a few seconds to fully register what Bobby had actually said. 

"What?" She stared up at him, checking his expression for any signs that he might have been joking, only to see his stony expression. There was no hint of humour in his eyes. "How? When?"

"A few hours ago," Bobby watched as she flung the duvet off, scrambling out of bed as quickly as she could in her still semi-conscious state. "Dean sent him into a diner for food, a few minutes later everyone in the place had been killed, and Sam was gone."

Cold fear sank through Cheyenne's stomach like she'd been stabbed with a knife. Her first thought was the Yellow-Eyed-Demon. They'd talked about it less and less after Sam had gone in search of the children like him, but Cheyenne knew that it was always on his mind. She could see it in his eyes when they talked quietly in the front seat of the Impala some nights, while Dean snored in the backseat. She could hear it in his voice, in how exhausted he sounded. He was scared, he was tired. He was ready for this fight with the Demon to be over. 

"What do we do?" She asked, her voice coming out close to a nervous squeak. Surely, Bobby would know what to do. Bobby always knew what to do, no matter how serious the situation. Right? He'd know what to look for, where to go. She half expected him to have a plan of action already, but there was nothing. Silence. "Bobby, come on..."

"There ain't anything to follow." He admitted after what felt like an age. "I've looked. No demonic signs in the past month, there's nothing to track."

Cheyenne grabbed a sweater from her closet, throwing it on over the vest she'd worn to bed, and after signalling for Bobby to turn his back, she quickly wriggled out of her worn Batman pyjama pants and underwear so she could put on fresh clothes. "So the Demon's been quiet? Deliberately?"

"Looks that way. Son of a bitch must've planned this, would've known we'd be looking for Sam if he got taken."

Cheyenne pulled on her boots, lacing them up quickly before grabbing her jacket. "So where do we go? Roadhouse?"

"Dean's on his way there now. Ash called, said he had some information on Sam, didn't want to share it over the phone." They walked downstairs together, Cheyenne trotting down the steps two at a time ahead of Bobby, who followed behind. "Is your truck stocked?"

"Checked it last night." She called over her shoulder, snatching up the keys to her Ford Pickup before racing out of the house, Bobby close behind her. Her red pickup was parked in its usual place in the garage out back, next to Bobby's '71 Chevelle, shining in the early morning light. While Bobby got into his car, Cheyenne walked around to the back of her Ford and checked the Cargo Bed was secure. 

When Cheyenne had started Hunting, Dean had offered to find her a new car so that she could kit out a trunk like he'd done with the Impala, but she'd been adamant that there was no way in Hell she was giving up her beloved Ford. 

"How would you like it if I told you to sell Baby?" She'd snapped, pointing at the black Chevy. Dean had relented after that, and instead of buying her a new car, they'd retrofitted her truck so it was suitable for a Hunter. 

The cargo bed in the back had a false bottom that she could open up, where she could store weapons without them being easily detected. Duffel bags filled with spare clothes, cash and a variety of guns were all stored in the cargo bed. While she was on a case she generally moved them into the car for easier access, but the hidden compartment made a good hiding spot. 

Cheyenne grabbed the dark green duffel from the hidden compartment, swinging it over her shoulder before locking up the cargo bed, giving it a quick once over to check it was secure. At Bobby's instruction she'd painted a Devil's Trap over it in UV reactive paint, making it invisible until it was under a blacklight. If she was ever in trouble with a demon, she could get it into the back and keep it secure. 

The duffel bag ended up underneath the back seat of the Ford, where Dean had fitted another storage space for guns. Generally, this was where she kept anything a little more valuable or important, but it made for easier access to her weapons when she was in a hurry. 

"You good?" Bobby called from his Chevelle. Cheyenne gave him a quick thumbs up before clambering into the driver's seat and listening to the engine come to life. As always, she was perfectly tuned - in the few days between his run in with the Djinn and setting off on this latest job, Dean had spent some time working on the truck in the Garage, making sure it was as well-tuned as possible. 

"Perfect as always, girl." She gave the dashboard a loving pat before following Bobby's Chevelle out of the Garage and towards the road. As she drove, Cheyenne's mind began to wander, thinking about Sam. Wherever he was, she was sure he was alive. Sam was a good enough Hunter and was smart enough to keep himself safe for a while, but it wasn't that much of a comfort. 

He'd told her about a girl like him - one of the psychic children - who'd disappeared one night without a trace, her fiancé murdered in their bed. That had been six months ago. Had the same thing happened to her? Was she with Sam? Was she even still alive?

Normally Cheyenne enjoyed driving. There was something relaxing about being behind the wheel of your car with nothing but the open road and the radio for company, just listening to the sound of wind rushing past the car, watching the sun dip in the horizon and paint the sky vivid orange and hot pink before it faded into purple and blue. Today though, Cheyenne couldn't concentrate on the road, she couldn't concentrate on the radio. All she could think about was Sam. 

The first thing Cheyenne noticed when they neared the Roadhouse was the smell of smoke, distinct and toxic as it seeped into the cab of Cheyenne's truck, making her wince. As they got closer, turning onto the small dirt track that carried you to the Roadhouse, Cheyenne saw why. 

It was rubble. Someone had razed the Roadhouse to the ground, leaving only a half-wall and the foundations among the charred remains. Broken glass and wood littered the ground around the destroyed building as Cheyenne and Bobby parked up, both unable to move for a few moments at the sight of what had once been Ellen Harvelle's pride and joy. 

Dean had arrived before them, parked only a few feet away. He was leaning against the hood of the car, staring emotionlessly at the rubble, despite the lingering smoke that must have burned his eyes. Slowly, Cheyenne eased herself out of the front seat and onto the tarmac, wincing at the sound of broken glass under her boots. "Dean?"

He raised his head slowly at the sound of her voice but didn't look at her, still just staring blankly into the rubble and ash. "They're gone."

Cheyenne felt sick. "Ellen?"

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he spoke. "Can't see her. But I found Ash, and about a dozen other Hunters."

"Who did this?" 

Dean shrugged listlessly, looking down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. "Demons, probably. Came for the information Ash was going to give me about Sam."

"So we're back to square one." Bobby grunted from behind Cheyenne. "No leads, no clues. Just a fat load of nothing." 

Beside her, Dean seemed to deflate at Bobby's words as the realisation that they truly may not find Sam sank in. He'd been clinging to Ash's knowledge more than she'd been aware of, hoping against hope that it would have been the fast route to finding his younger brother. Now though, with nothing left to hope for, it was getting to him. Cheyenne dropped her hand into his lap, lacing her fingers with his so that she could give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "We'll find him, Dean. We just need to keep looking."

"Where?" His voice cracked a little when he spoke, and Cheyenne swore she felt her heart break a little. He looked so desperate, so vulnerable, so lost. All he wanted was his younger brother. "We don't even know-"

He broke off, dropping her hand and grabbing at his forehead with a sharp hiss, groaning in pain as he doubled over. "Dean?!"

"Is he alright?" Bobby stepped closer, casting Cheyenne an uncertain glance. As suddenly as Dean had doubled over though, he seemed fine. 

"Headache." He mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. Bobby cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced. 

"You get headaches like that often?"

"It's the stress." Dean shook his head, straightening up. "Just... Could'a sworn I saw something for a minute there."

Bobby and Cheyenne cast each other concerned glances, and when they made eye contact, Cheyenne knew they were thinking the exact same thing, but neither of them wanted to voice it. After a moment, Bobby gave in. "Visions like... Sam?"

Dean scowled at him, pushing himself off the hood of the Impala and heading for the driver's side door. " _Not_ like Sam. I'm not some friggin' psychic, Bobby."

As he reached for the door handle though, Dean cried out in pain, gripping the roof of the Impala for support as his knees buckled. Cheyenne and Bobby were crouched beside him in a second, calling his name as he groaned in agony. 

"Dean?" Cheyenne cupped both his cheeks, forcing him to look at her as he blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear his head. "Jesus, are you okay?"

"You with us, son?" Bobby asked, his voice unusually gentle. Dean nodded uncertainly, looking between them slowly. 

"I think I saw Sam." He whispered, not quite believing his own words. "I... I don't know how but... I saw him, I swear."

Relief blossomed in Cheyenne's chest. Surely that meant Sam was okay, it must have done.  "Did you see anything else?"

Dean leaned his back against the door of the Impala, his face screwing up a little as he tried to think. "I saw... Uh, like a bell? A big bell, like over a well. It had some kind of engraving over it."

Cheyenne's first thought was a sarcastic _'great'_. A 'big bell' wasn't exactly a big lead, but as she thought about it, Cheyenne realised it sounded familiar. "The engraving..."

"Yeah?"

"Was it like... A tree? Maybe an oak?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow, surprised. "Yeah. Exactly, how did you know that?"

Instead of answering him, Cheyenne leapt to her feet, racing to the trunk of Bobby's car where she knew he kept his journal. Perhaps a bell with an engraving of a tree on it wasn't as useless as she'd first thought. "I think I know where Sam is!"

Dean scrambled to his feet, using the Impala and Bobby for support. "You wanna share that information with the class?"

She ignored him, leafing through Bobby's journal for the sketch she'd seen months earlier. She'd spent so long studying this journal she practically knew it inside and out, so when she scanned the pages, she knew exactly what she was looking for. 

"Aha!" She held the book up to Bobby and Dean, jabbing a finger at the page. Scrawled in biro was a rudimentary bell, with an oak tree engraved on it. Dean pointed to it, nodding. 

"That's it, that's what I saw."

Cheyenne snapped the book shut, tossing it back into the trunk and closing it quickly. "He's in Cold Oak, South Dakota."

Bobby's face broke into a semi-smile, and he clapped her on the back once, murmuring a quick 'Good work, kid', before heading to the front seat of his Chevelle. For a moment, Dean just stood there as if he was unable to speak, before launching himself at her and bringing her into a tight hug that caught her off guard. "Easy, it's okay."

Dean tried to say something, but all that came out was a low, desperate noise. He didn't need to speak anything though, there was nothing he could say that she didn't already know. "It's okay, Dean." 

He pulled back a little to look down at her without letting go of her waist, looking just as desperate as he had done moments before, but just a  _little_  hopeful at the same time. Cheyenne managed a weak smile for him despite the carnage around them, patting his cheek gently in a move she hoped was encouraging. "Let's go find Sam."

He didn't need telling twice. Almost before she'd finished speaking, Dean let go of her waist and headed back to the Impala, starting the engine with a low rumble before she'd even made it into her truck. Bobby headed off first, leading the way to Cold Oak, while Dean followed close behind. Cheyenne paused for just a moment, looking at the remnants of the Roadhouse one last time. 

In the last year, the Roadhouse had become her home away from home. She'd started to think of the Singer Salvage Yard as her real home the longer she spent there, but the Roadhouse had always had a bed and a cold beer for her when she'd needed it. Ellen always greeted her with a warm smile, and Ash always gave her a tighter hug than necessary before returning to his work on the laptop. Tears sprung to her eyes at the thought of Ash and Ellen buried in the rubble, murdered by Demons over a war that no-one had seen coming. Their home had become their tomb, encased under the bar they'd loved so much. 

With one final glance, Cheyenne threw her Ford into gear and peeled out of the desolate parking lot, following the Impala back towards the highway. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they arrived in Cold Oak, it was dark. Cheyenne had barely registered the sun setting in front of her until the cab of her truck was bathed in a warm orange glow, but it must have meant they'd been driving for hours, only stopping once for food from a trashy diner. When they came to the end of the road, a few miles outside of town, Cheyenne's back ached from hours hunched over the steering wheel.

"Guess it's on foot from here." She muttered, pulling up between the Impala and the Chevelle. Dean and Bobby were both stretching their aching muscles as they gathered weapons and equipment. None of them really had any idea of what to expect when they arrived in the town, so they brought everything they could carry - salt rounds, iron, silver bullets and knives. They were kitted out for almost anything. 

The walk up to town was eerily silent. Normally before a Hunt Dean would try and keep things light, generally for Cheyenne's sake. They'd talk about the plan of action in the car, so by the time they were actually on the job, the conversation would usually turn to other things. Lunch, dinner plans, maybe a movie that they wanted to see the next day. 

Tonight there was nothing. 

The silence was so heavy Cheyenne felt like she was suffocating. Every so often she'd glance over at Dean, but he'd always have the same expression on his face, cold and stony. Bobby didn't speak either, save to reorient them when they started to veer a little too West. The silence made Cheyenne acutely aware of her every movement, of every twig that snapped underfoot or every leaf that her shoulders jostled as they made their way towards the town. As they walked, it started to rain, first with little droplets that hit Cheyenne's cheeks and made her flinch involuntarily, but soon enough it had turned into a steady downpour, soaking the three of them as they trudged through the woods and into the town. 

The well wasn't far from the entrance to the town, and Cheyenne glanced at Dean out of the corner of her eye as they passed it, making sure that he recognised it. When he gave her a short, terse nod the continued on, following the faint yells from somewhere in the town. Unable to help himself, Dean called his younger brother's name. "Sammy!"

A little closer than expected, they heard Sam's voice. "Dean?"

Cheyenne swung her flashlight around, lighting the path that led from the main road in town off towards a field, and sure enough, they saw Sam. He was hunched over a little, his left arm held at an uncomfortable angle as he stumbled towards them, a weak smile lighting up his face at the sight of them. "Dean!"

"Oh thank God..." Cheyenne heard Dean breath, his shoulders relaxing a little at the sight of his baby brother alive and (mostly) well. He wasn't relaxed for long, though. 

For months afterwards, Cheyenne laid awake replaying the next few moments over in her head, almost as if in slow motion. The one thing she'd been thankful for about Jake and Ana's deaths was that she'd never had to watch them die, she'd only seen the aftermath. She'd never had to see the shock in someone's eyes as they were mortally wounded before, she'd never had to hear the pained gasp of surprise. That night though, it played out in technicolour.

She wasn't sure how it happened. One moment, Sam was stumbling towards them, and the next there was another man behind him, the knife in his hand sinking into Sam's back with a noise that made her want to vomit. The man wrenched the knife from Sam's back, and she heard his agonised groan as he swayed on the spot, and then his attacker took off running in the other direction. 

Cheyenne was ashamed to admit that her first instinct wasn't to run to Sam to help him like Dean, nor was it to chase after the stranger with the knife like Bobby did. Instead, she froze on the spot, only for a second, her mouth hanging open in horror at the sight of Sam crumbling before her eyes. It was Dean that brought her out of her stupor. 

The noise that came out of his mouth was barely human. It came from deep within him, a guttural, broken howl as he ran to catch his baby brother, racing across the path to catch him as he sank to the floor. Sam collapsed into him, barely making sense as he groaned in pain. On her left, Bobby had taken off running after the other man, but he was a lot faster than the older Hunter, and was disappearing into the mist up ahead. 

Cheyenne had two choices: help Dean with Sam, or catch the man responsible. In a decision that she knew was completely selfish, she tossed her duffel bag to the ground and took off running after Bobby, chasing the figure in worn out army fatigues as he disappeared back into town. It was easier to run after him instead of stay and risk watching Sam die, even though she knew it was the coward's way out. 

She caught up to Bobby easily, just as the path in town split in two. The unknown man was nowhere to be seen, meaning they each needed to take a path. Bobby paused, obviously hesitant about splitting up with her and letting her run off alone, but Cheyenne didn't bother to stop and think, racing off to the right without him. Mud splashed up her legs as she sprinted along the path, her heart pounding so quickly in her chest she could hear it in her ears. At some point along the way, she'd dropped her flashlight, and the path ahead was only illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. 

It didn't take long for Cheyenne to reach a dead end, and she skidded to a halt, her boots slipping in the mud. The man who'd attacked Sam was no-where to be found, and while she paused to catch her breath, Cheyenne figured she must have picked the wrong path, and Bobby must have gone after him. If she was honest, she had no idea what she'd have done if she'd caught up to him. Was she supposed to subdue him? Bring him back to Dean to deal out justice as he saw fit?

As she braced her hands against her thighs, sucking in lungfuls of air like a drowning man, Cheyenne noticed something in the mud, all around her and too large to be hers. Something that made her body stiffen, made the hairs on the back of her neck rise to attention. 

Footprints.

Before her body could react properly to what she'd realised, something knocked Cheyenne to the ground, sending her skidding along the ground with a yell of surprise. She'd closed her eyes on impact, but when she opened them, it was to the man she'd seen before. The one who'd stabbed Sam. 

"I don't want to kill you." The man grunted as she struggled against him, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her back into the ground so hard that her head knocked back into the mud. Pain shot through her body, and Cheyenne screamed, trying to wriggle out from underneath him. The ground was so slick from the rain that she couldn't get purchase though, no matter how hard she tried to dig her heels into the mud. 

"Fuck  _you_!" She snarled, reaching up and grabbing for his face, grunting as she felt her nails dig into his cheek and slash deep marks into the flesh that drew blood in an instant. The man on top of her cried out in pain, slamming her against the ground again so hard that it knocked the wind out of her. 

He could have left her like that, so badly winded that she wouldn't have been able to chase after him, but she'd fought back and _that_ had pissed him off. So instead of letting her go, he grabbed her by the throat with both hands, starting to squeeze. Her eyes went wide as she realised what he was doing, and she tried desperately to scream, but she could barely even wheeze past the pressure around her throat. He was going to kill her, right here in the mud, maybe three hundred feet from Sam. 

Black spots started to cloud Cheyenne's vision as she tried desperately to get out from underneath him, fighting back against the man who towered over her and probably had sixty pounds on her. It was futile, and it didn't take long for her efforts to weaken, for the fists that beat at his chest and shoulders to slacken. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she realised this was it. She was going to die, just like Sam. 

Suddenly, the pressure was gone, and she was choking in cold air. She heard footsteps, someone running as she gasped like a fish out of water, and then she heard Bobby's voice as he dropped to his knees beside her, helping her into a sitting position so he could check if she was injured. "Cheyenne?  _Cheyenne_  are you okay? Jesus Christ, kid..."

She leaned into Bobby's chest gratefully, unable to speak, save one word. "Where...?"

"Took off running when he saw the shotgun." Bobby motioned to the gun he'd tossed aside when he'd run to her. "Figured he wouldn't win in that fight."

Her brain felt foggy as she tried to process what had just happened, how quickly she'd come to dying  _again_. And then she remembered, like someone had hit her. She remembered why they were there, she remembered what had happened. God, was Sam dead?

Before she could ask, before she could say anything, Cheyenne heard a noise that confirmed her worst fears, a noise that brought tears to her eyes and made her want to throw up. It was Dean, screaming his brother's name over and over again. 

_"Sammy!"_


	51. Chapter 51

The funny thing about grief is that it's easy to forget how painful it is until you have to face it. Of course, when you've lost a person, you remember the sadness, remember how you tried to cope, but over time the sheer agony of it fades from your memory. Time and distance distorts the pain until it slips through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass, until all you're left with is the whole in your life that the person once filled.

After Bobby had scooped her up off the ground, the rest of the evening was a blur. She could remember sinking to her knees in front of Sam's body, her knees giving out underneath her as she collapsed back into the mud, barely able to believe what she was seeing. 

There was so much blood.

It seeped through Sam's khaki jacket, coating Dean's hands and clothing, dribbling down into the mud that Cheyenne ended up in. It was everywhere, all over them as they sobbed and screamed and begged for him to be alright. None of it mattered though, Sam lay slumped against Dean, his eyes closed as his body slack. He was gone. 

Beyond that, she couldn't remember much. At some point they must have gotten up, one of them - probably Dean - carried Sam to the nearest house and laid him out on a mattress. Cheyenne had barely been able to look at Sam's body without breaking out into tears, and she'd had to excuse herself. She'd sat in the other room alone for hours, unable to move from the tears, but at some point she'd barely registered Dean yelling something at Bobby, telling him to get out and leave him alone. The older Hunter had walked out, and Cheyenne had gone too. He knew where to find them when he was ready, they figured. 

Cheyenne had driven in silence back to Sioux Falls, following Bobby's car on autopilot until they pulled up in front of his house. She'd been ordered to take a shower and leave her filthy clothes on the floor of the upstairs hallway, and Bobby would make her something to eat, despite the fact that she wasn't hungry. He'd ignored her weak protests and sent her upstairs anyway. 

So there she was, hours later, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she stripped off, her movements stiff and mechanical. Her clothes were caked in mud from the struggle, her face flecked with pale brown crust that had dried and stained her skin. When she'd stripped out of her clothes and left them outside as instructed, she could assess the damage from the fight. 

Her back and shoulders were mottled with angry bruising from where the man had slammed her against the ground repeatedly, her ribs and knees almost black from where she'd been tackled to the ground. That wasn't the worst though - when she pushed her hair over her shoulders, she could see the dark fingerprints around her throat, clear markers of where Sam's killer had tried to finish her off. She reached up to touch the marks gently, shuddering a little when she thought about how close she'd come to dying. 

It was easier to think about that than to think about Sam. 

When she showered, she concentrated on cleaning the mud from her skin, washing it from where it had matted her hair. She scrubbed her skin in an effort to clean herself, lightly at first so as not to aggravate her injuries, but then more forcefully, whimpering as the loofa scraped along her bruises. She scrubbed until her skin was raw and burning, until it was an angry red, and only then did she drop the loofa onto the edge of the tub and step out, covering her body with a towel. 

The stinging from her shower faded quickly, and as Cheyenne padded across the hall and into her room she realised she felt completely numb. Her throat was raw from crying, her eyes were puffy and red, but she just couldn't  _feel_  anything.

While Cheyenne had showered, Bobby had made her a grilled cheese sandwich and left it on the bedside table for her, just as he had done the day she'd come to his house after Oregon. That afternoon she'd smiled gratefully, relished the simple meal, and dozed off. Now though, she spared it a look of disgust before sliding it into the trashcan in the corner of the room. She couldn't eat, not right now. 

Instead, she flopped onto the bed on her stomach, still wrapped in her towel, and allowed her eyes to slip closed. She wasn't going to sleep, but she just needed to take a moment, to gather herself, to make sure she could be there for Dean when he came back and needed her. 

She saw Sam when she closed her eyes. She saw his warm hazel eyes, always so open and inviting. She saw the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, saw the flecks of copper in his brown hair that caught the light. She heard his laugh, usually just a gentle huff, but sometimes a fully belly laugh that wracked his whole body. 

She saw him stumbling towards her in the darkness, his face cracking into a hopeful smile. She saw that hope drain away, heard the knife slice through his spinal cord and plunge deep into his back. She could smell the blood in the air, could feel it on her hands as she clutched at him. She could  _hear_ Dean screaming his name desperately. 

Cheyenne woke with a start, visions of Sam's bloodied body burned into her mind's eye. She must have fallen asleep for a few hours, because her muscles were cramped, and all but groaned in protest when she stretched them. After rolling onto her back, Cheyenne got up and pulled on some clothes, wincing at the red welts imprinted onto her torso by the towel. She must have been out for a while. 

Bobby's voice drifted upstairs from somewhere close to the front door, and after a second Cheyenne heard a second voice that she recognised immediately. A quick glance out of the window confirmed her suspicion - Dean was back. Maybe he'd decided to bury Sam alone. Maybe it was easier that way. 

Either way, Cheyenne headed for the stairs, pausing with one hand on the banister when she heard a third man's voice, a little lighter than Bobby and Dean's, a little softer. Cheyenne felt her heart in her throat as she heard it, shaking her head sternly. It wasn't possible. 

But God, it sounded so much like him...

The voices stopped in the front room as Cheyenne walked down the stairs, the old wood creaking underfoot. As she walked from the hallway into the front room, the first person she spotted was Bobby, stood beside the fireplace. Next to him was Dean, but beside Dean was a taller man with his back to Cheyenne, wearing a very familiar stained khaki jacket. 

No. 

It couldn't have been. 

There was no way that was Sam. 

Bobby spotted her from across the room. "Look who's up."

Dean turned his head to look at her, but he couldn't hold her gaze for more than a moment before looking at the floor. The other man turned to look at her, and when she met his gaze, Cheyenne felt like the wind had been knocked out of her all over again. For a second she couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. 

It was Sam. 

His face broke into a warm smile at the sight of her, and he pulled her into a gentle hug before she even had time to react properly. She clung to his shoulders instinctively, pulling him against her tightly as if she was afraid he'd slip through her fingers. "Sam?"

"Yeah," He chuckled low in his throat, and Cheyenne felt it reverberate through his chest. "Dean told me you helped Bobby patch me up, so I guess I owe you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Cheyenne saw Dean turn his head away a little to avoid meeting her gaze, likely to avoid getting caught out in a lie. Cheyenne pulled back a little, managing a small smile for Sam's sake. She hadn't patched him up, there had been _nothing to patch up_. So why hadn't Dean told her the truth?

Bobby saw her eyeing the younger Hunter up suspiciously, so he clapped Dean on the shoulder. "How about you and Cheyenne grab us some crates of beer from out back, huh?"

"Yeah," Dean murmured, still unable to meet her gaze. He could almost hear the cogs turning in her head,  trying to figure out what the hell he'd done. "Sure."

She didn't say anything as they walked outside, just trailed behind him in silence and watched him closely. It wasn't until they were in the garage, and Dean was looking for the crates of beer that she spoke. "What did you do?"

His back was to her, so she couldn't see her expression, but she heard the heavy, broken sigh. "Chey..."

"Did you make a deal?"

She didn't want to even consider Dean selling his soul to a Crossroads Demon, but it was the only thing that made sense. They were easy enough to summon, she knew there was a Crossroads only a few miles from Cold Oak, and Sam was alive again. The thought of Dean giving up his soul was enough to make her scream, but it was the only option that made sense to her. 

He didn't deny it. Cheyenne felt a lump rise in her throat, and in an instant, it was like her whole world had come crashing down around her. The plans they'd made, all the promises they'd whispered to each other in darkened rooms, all of that was gone in a second. They were never going to get out of Hunting, they were never going to escape. 

They could never have the family they'd both talked about between slow, lazy kisses. They could never go on those road trips they'd want to, getting lost out on the highway for weeks at a time. They would never grow old together. 

"How long?" She whispered, her voice wavering. Dean straightened up, finally turning to look at her guiltily. 

"A year."

" _Jesus_ , Dean." She breathed out the words on a sob, her voice cracking. "God, I could kill you you  _stupid_  son of a bitch..."

"And send me downstairs ahead of schedule?" He tried to make it come out as a joke, but the smile died on his lips when he saw angry tears spill down Cheyenne's cheeks. 

"How is he going to feel, huh?" She croaked, her voice hoarse. "You know how you get when your dad made a deal, how do you think he's going to feel when he knows you did the same thing?"

"That's the point, Chey," He sighed, taking a hesitant step towards her. "I'm not even supposed to be here. At least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? I - It's like my life could mean something."

She choked out a mirthless laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "Your life  _did_  mean something, Dean! It always has. Are you that screwed up that you think you  _deserve_  this? Did you not stop to think for one  _fucking_   _second_  to think about me? About what you mean to me?"

She was angry, he expected that much. He hadn't ever expected her to understand why he'd done what he had, but a small, selfish part of him hoped that she would be able to get on board with it. Sam was his brother, there was no way he was going to let him die without putting up a fight. 

"I'm sorry," He began, reaching out to smear her tears away. She slapped his hand away so hard that his hand stung, and he yanked it back instinctively. 

"Don't." She spat, wiping the tears away herself and inhaling shakily. "Don't you dare."

In retrospect, Dean should have expected this. He should have known that Cheyenne wouldn't take this lying down, he should have known she'd fight him over this. It didn't stop it from hurting when she pushed him away though. "I get it."

"No, Dean." She shook her head slowly, blinking away tears. "I don't think you do."

Dean opened his mouth to respond, to tell her he'd give her the space she needed to process all of this, but before he could they heard something crash behind them. They span around, peering into the darkened recesses of the Garage, only to see a filthy figure stumble out into the light. Her skin was smeared with soot, her clothes were covered in ash and dust, but she was alive. Cheyenne and Dean crossed the room in a matter of seconds, their fight forgotten for the moment.

"Ellen," Dean breathed, scooping her into his arms. "Jesus Christ, we thought you were dead."

She hugged him back gratefully, pulling back for a moment to look between the two of them. "For a moment there I thought I was too."

"It's good to see you," Cheyenne whispered, hugging the older woman tightly. She meant it, even if it hadn't come out in her voice quite the way she'd wanted. After everything that had happened in the past twelve hours, it was a relief to finally have some good news. "Are you okay?"

"I think so," She whispered, pushing tangled hair back from her face. "Are you?"

Cheyenne opened her mouth, but she couldn't just give a simple 'yes'. She couldn't lie. "It's been a long day."

"Tell me about it." Ellen sighed, following Cheyenne and Dean as they walked her back into Bobby's house. 

Bobby and Sam were surprised (but grateful) to see her alive, both assuming that she'd died with Ash in the fire. After a shot of Holy Water confirmed that she wasn't a Demon, Ellen told them everything she knew. She told them that she left to get pretzels, of all the damnedest things. She told the about Ash's phone call, panicked and erratic. She told them about the map she'd found in the safe, where Ash had instructed her to look. 

"The hell is all this?" Dean asked, jabbing a finger at one of the dark lines on the map, and a couple of the large X's that marked various locations. Cheyenne bent down to note the coordinates in her journal, before retrieving her laptop from Bobby's desk. 

"I'll search the coordinates." She said coolly, avoiding Dean's gaze as she left the room. The interaction didn't go unnoticed by Sam, who eyed his older brother up uncertainly. 

"Everything alright?"

Dean shrugged him off, excused it as Cheyenne just being tired, but he knew it was more than that. She could barely even stand to look at him she was so angry, sooner or later Sam was going to find out why. He was going to find out what Dean did, that he was going to Hell, and that there was no way to stop it. The Crossroads Demon's words echoed in Dean's head. _"_ _If you try and welch or weasel your way out, then the deal is off. Sam drops dead. He's back to rotten meat in no time. So... It's a better deal than your dad ever got. What do you say?"_

There was no way out of it. He had one year with her, and in all likelihood, he was going to spend that year trying to get her to forgive him. Thinking about what this must have been doing to her physically hurt Dean, but he didn't regret his decision. If the choice was put in front of him again, he'd do the same thing.

It didn't take Cheyenne long to figure out what the markings on the map meant. She walked back into the front room fifteen minutes later (still avoiding Dean's gaze) with her laptop in her hands, setting it down with a grim smile. "You're never going to guess what these are."

"Enlighten us." Bobby cocked an eyebrow. 

"19th Century Frontier churches. Every single one of them was built by Samuel Colt."

"The demon-killing, gun-building Samuel Colt?" Dean asked. 

"Unless you know another." She said coolly, without looking at him. When Dean didn't respond, Cheyenne grabbed a marker from the table and leaned over the map, drawing something on it. "There's more. He built the railway tracks between the churches, linking them all up. And guess what they make..."

She stepped back to let the other four look, folding her arms triumphantly. On the map, she'd marked a Devil's Trap, built up of the tracks Colt had commissioned. "A 100 square foot Devil's Trap, and if we're assuming that the lines are unbroken..."

"The Yellow-Eyed-Demon must be trying to get in." Sam finished off for her. Cheyenne nodded in agreement. 

"Exactly. I don't know why though, all that's in the centre is this old Cowboy Cemetery."

"The Hell was Colt trying to protect?" Bobby wondered out loud. The others shared uncomfortable glances, the uncertainty making them all nervous. Finally, Dean broke the silence. 

"What if he wasn't trying to keep something from getting in? What if there's something in that cemetery he was trying to stop from getting out?"

"Oh, now  _there's_  a comforting thought." Ellen quipped, shaking her head. No-one dismissed Dean's idea though - it wasn't exactly outside of the realm of possibility. 

"Those railway lines are solid iron," Cheyenne slid into the unoccupied chair beside Bobby. "No way a Demon gets across them."

Realisation dawned on Sam's face as her words sank in. All of a sudden it made sense - the Demon had been planning this for years, looking for way to create humans with demonic powers who could cross the iron lines, getting him access to whatever was hidden inside the Devil's Trap. "I know who could."

D groaned gently, following his train of thought. "Jesus Christ, that's what this whole thing was about? All of that shit you've been going through, to get in here?"

"He needed humans." Sam whispered, frowning around the room at each Hunter individually. He couldn't help but notice that when his gaze fell on Cheyenne, she could only hold his gaze for a moment or two before ducking her head a little, as if she was examining the map. He glanced at Dean, but his older brother's expression gaze nothing away, and Sam decided to file it away under 'conversations for later'. 

After all, he thought as he looked down at the map, they had more pressing concerns.


	52. Chapter 52

Cheyenne didn't look at him once during the drive up to the cemetery. The five Hunters pooled into the Impala for the journey, and Cheyenne took her normal place in between Sam and Dean, but she kept her eyes glued on the road ahead. She couldn't look at Sam either, and it was clear to Dean that his younger brother had noticed, casting uncertain glances at her in the darkness. He never brought it up though, not even after they parked the Impala and geared up, and he had the chance to pull her aside. 

The cemetery was silent when Dean picked the lock and let them in - they'd made it there before Jake, obviously. The plan was to ambush him before he could do whatever it was he'd been ordered to do by the Demon, take him out and then celebrate averting the likely apocalypse with suicidal amounts of alcohol. 

They didn't have much time to prepare themselves though - almost as soon as they got close to the large crypt that stood as the macabre centrepiece of the cemetery they could hear a car engine cut out not too far away. Bobby and Ellen hid in the shadows of the cemetery while Sam crouched beside a large tombstone close to the entrance gates. Cheyenne and Dean ended up hidden behind the same tomb, Cheyenne trying as hard as possible to avoid making contact with him despite the small space. He yanked her backwards into him with a low grunt, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the disgruntled noise that came out. 

"You're gonna give yourself away." He hissed in her ear. "I get that you're pissed at me, but stay hidden, dammit."

She didn't struggle against his grasp as he loosened his grip on her waist, and when he lowered his other hand she didn't say a word, but Dean noticed that she still refused to look at him as they heard the cemetery gate creak open. He wanted to say something to her - this was dangerous, one of them could end up getting hurt or killed, after all - but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. 

"Howdy, Jake." They heard Sam's voice - their cue to come out of hiding. Cheyenne and Dean stood up from behind the tomb in unison, pointing their guns at Jake, where he had frozen only a few feet from the  mausoleum. Across the graveyard,  Ellen and Bobby had stepped out of the shadows too.

"No way," Jake breathed, his eyes wide at the sight of Sam. "No way you're alive, man. I  _killed you_."

"Next time finish the job." Sam leered, raising his gun a little higher. Jake shook his head, adamant. 

"I did. I cut clean through your spinal cord man, you were dead. Ain't no way you're alive."

Sam didn't miss the sharp look at that Cheyenne and Dean exchanged. He didn't miss the way Dean dropped his gaze, turning his head away from her a little. He didn't miss the slump of Cheyenne's shoulders. Still though, he didn't say anything. 

"Just take it easy, son. We don't want to hurt you." Bobby said gently, trying not to alarm the young man with the gun and risk a serious accident. 

Jake chuckled, his face twisting into an ugly sneer. "Oh don't you? That's awful nice of you."

"The fuck are you smiling about?" Dean growled, his knuckles standing out bright white against his gun. It was taking every ounce of his self control not to shoot Jake there and then, getting retribution for Sam's death. 

Jake spared him a glance before his gaze settled on Cheyenne. "Hey sweetheart? How about you do me a favour and point that gun at your head?"

It was a stupid idea. Why the hell would she do that, point the gun at her head instead of at him? Cheyenne wanted to tell him to fuck off, but before she could open her mouth, she felt her arm move without her brain telling it to. She couldn't stop herself, and in seconds the cold metal of the gun was pressed to her temple. "Dean..."

"You son of a bitch," Dean snarled, taking the safety off his gun with a  _click_. "Let her go."

"Dean, shoot him." Cheyenne begged, her gun trembling in her hand from the force of trying to lower her arm. The muscles in her arms strained with the effort, but even as hard as she tried she couldn't move the gun. 

"She'll be dead before you can pull the trigger, hotshot." Jake assured him calmly. Dean didn't take the safety off his gun, but he didn't fire either. "Everyone lower your guns. Except you, sweetheart. You stay right where you are."

Reluctantly, the other four lowered their guns to the ground. Dean hadn't taken his eyes off Cheyenne, watching as the cold metal of the gun pushed against her temple, her fingertip grazing the trigger-guard. Using Cheyenne as a distraction, Jake took his chance to walk past them and pull the Colt from where it was tucked into the back of his jeans, slotting it into a hole in the door of the mausoleum. 

What happened next was so quick that Cheyenne barely had time to register it. Almost as soon as Jake's back was turned Dean was moving to her, grabbing her to try and move the gun away from her head. Bobby and Ellen were moving towards her too, trying to help Dean get the gun out of Cheyenne's grip. They struggled with her, trying to force the gun to the ground before it went off, but it was like her muscles had locked in place. Try as she might, Cheyenne couldn't let go of it, and as they tried, she heard a voice. It sounded like Jake, but it was so close it was like he was speaking in her ear. 

 _Pull the trigger_.  _Kill yourself._

At that second, Dean opted for a different tactic, tackling Cheyenne to the soft, mossy ground, clamping a hand around her wrist to keep her arm pinned to the floor and angled away from her head, just as her finger slipped from the trigger-guard and squeezed the trigger. The force of being knocked to the ground, and the gun going off at the awkward angle shocked Cheyenne, and in an instant she felt like her head had cleared. Finally, her grip on the gun relaxed, and it slipped from her grasp to rest in the grass. Whatever Jake had done to her, it was over. 

Dean was still leaning over her, keeping her pressed against the ground with his body weight, hanging only a few inches from her face to try and make sure that she was alright. Cheyenne stared up at him wordlessly for a moment, trying to gather the right words to say. 

She blinked a few times, confused. What was that noise? Gunfire? Who's gunfire?

Cheyenne turned her head to the left a little, just in time to see Jake slump to the floor, his head rolling to one side as his body went limp. Sam stood over him, his gun aimed at the other man's heart. While Dean had wrestled the gun from her, Sam had obviously taken the moment to shoot Jake, killing him. 

"You okay?" Dean's soft voice just above her drew Cheyenne's attention again, and she turned her head back to look him in the eye. His eyebrows were knitted into a frown, green eyes impossibly wide as he searched her face for any signs that she was injured, bar the inevitable bruising from being tackled to the ground for the second time in two days. 

Just for a moment, Cheyenne forgot how angry she was. She forgot how upset and betrayed she felt, she forgot how much she wanted to scream and fight him. Just for a few seconds, all of that melted away, and she felt safe there underneath him, his arms caging her in and protecting her. 

It was short lived. The intricate stone dials on the door to the mausoleum had begun to turn a few moments after Sam had killed Jake, and now they were spinning faster. As Dean helped Cheyenne to her feet, Bobby moved closer to the door, trying to make out the symbols. When he did, he took an instinctive step back, swinging out an arm to push Ellen back too. "No..."

"What is it?" Ellen asked, craning her neck past him to try and see what was on the door that had spooked him so badly. Bobby just shook his head, horrified. 

"It's Hell."

Dean's next moves were purely instinctual. He yanked the Colt out of the door with one hand, grabbed Sam by the back of the shirt with the other, and swung his younger brother behind him towards Bobby and Ellen, who were already running for cover. One arm wrapped around Cheyenne, and before she could react, she was on the floor again. Dean had thrown them behind a tombstone, laying almost completely on top of Cheyenne and knocking the wind out of her on impact in an attempt to shield her body. 

Seconds later the doors burst open, and they heard an inhuman scream come from somewhere deep inside the crypt, getting louder and louder until it seemed like it was all around them, above them and below them all at the same time. Cheyenne squeezed her eyes shut, clinging onto Dean like she was afraid he'd get ripped from her grasp, and Dean held onto her so tightly she was almost certain she'd have finger-shaped bruises on her sides the next day. The urge to peek around Dean and see what was happening was too great to resist, and after a moment Cheyenne opened her eyes, just a crack, to look up into the sky. 

What she saw made her want to scream. 

When they'd arrived at the graveyard, the sky had been clear. They were far enough from the city that the light pollution was low, and they'd had a good view of the stars, which they probably would have paused to appreciate if they hadn't been so concerned about getting to the cemetery before Jake. The moonlight had lit the path from the Impala for them, bathing the headstones in a pale, milky glow as they'd walked up to the crypt. Now though, it was pitch black, the moon and stars almost completely obscured from what she at first thought were clouds that had rolled in from nowhere. 

It took her a second to register what she was watching, but when she realised what it was, she felt sick. It wasn't cloud, it was demon smoke. Hundreds and hundreds of demons, pooling out of the crypt and into the night sky with a horrifying screech, something close to nails scraping down a chalkboard.

"We need to get that gate closed!" Dean yelled. Even with how close he was to her, Cheyenne could hardly hear him over the noise of the demons. He was right though - the longer that gate was open, the more that could escape. 

The two of them struggled to their feet, making their way back towards the heavy door, through which demons were still pouring out, swirling around them but largely ignoring them in their desperation to get out of the graveyard. Thankfully, the iron rail tracks would keep them enclosed, but if those were to somehow be broken from the force of all of these demons being expelled at once...

Bobby and Ellen made it to the crypt first, attempting to force one of the doors closed. Cheyenne got to the other door a few seconds later, slapping her palms against the cold stone and starting to try and push. The door was heavy enough as it was, without the added force of hundreds of demons escaping. She braced herself against the door, digging her heels into the soft ground as she leaned in with all her body weight, trying to push the door closed. Sam was close behind her, and with their combined weight and effort the door started to move, albeit painfully slowly. 

Dean never made it to the door. He was a few feet away from Cheyenne and Sam when he heard a voice behind him. 

"You know, boys really shouldn't play with Daddy's guns."

He knew who it was before he turned fully, but sure enough, when he glanced over his shoulder behind him, the Yellow-Eyed-Demon was stood a few feet away, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. A flick of the wrist sent Dean flying into a nearby tombstone, and he felt a sharp pain in the left side of his head from where it smacked into the granite. The Colt, which he'd still clutched in his right hand, went flying on impact, and the Demon scooped it up from the grass with ease, tutting at the younger man in front of him as if he was scolding a child. 

"Dean!" Sam called his older brother's name, leaping back from the door instinctively to go and help him. Without the added help from Sam's body weight and strength, Cheyenne felt the door force her back a little, the heels of her boots digging further into the mud. With a grunt, she launched herself back against the door, the force of her weight and the momentum pushing the door closed a few inches. 

The Demon sent Sam flying just as easily as he had done with Dean, and in an instant he found himself against a tree a few feet away, the swirling black demon smoke making it difficult to see his brother, or the three who were still struggling with the doors. 

"Oh don't worry champ," The Demon called lightly. "I'll get to you in a minute. But I'm proud of you, Sammy. Always knew you had it in you."

Dean struggled into a sitting position, grabbing the headstone for support as he tried to clamber to his feet. A sudden force hit him again, taking his feet out from under him. The Demon took a step closer, grinning. 

"Sit a spell." He ordered, dropping into a crouch a foot away from Dean, who was resisting the urge to spit in his face. This was the Demon that had killed his mother, killed Jessica. This was the Demon he'd spent years of his life chasing, the monster in the closet, the thing in the shadows. This was his nightmare, except that it was real. Dean's whole life had led him to this moment. 

"Fuck you." He ground out. The Demon just chuckled, shaking his head slowly like he was dealing with a petulant teenager. 

"Now now, Dean," He scolded. "I just wanted to thank you. You see, a demon can't bring a person back unless a deal has been made. I know, I know - the red tape will drive you nuts. But thanks to you, Little Sammy is back in rotation." 

Over by the door, Cheyenne peered through the demon smoke to try and see the brothers. Sam was far away, struggling by the tree and barely visible. Dean was less than ten feet away, staring at the Demon as he spoke, sounding almost as if he was the announcer at a show. 

Something in the corner of her eye made Cheyenne turn away from the Yellow-Eyed-Demon. Black smoke was no longer the only thing coming out of the crypt - something was pooling out that she hadn't expected to see. White light, so bright and pure that it hurt her eyes to look directly into, was filtering through into the graveyard, lighting up the Demon and Dean. As Cheyenne watched, still struggling against the door, some of the light began to shift and move, as if morphing into shapes. 

She saw faces, a few almost transparent torsos and body parts that were too faint or too far away to get a good look at, but Cheyenne knew what they were. They were ghosts. 

And she recognised one of them. 

The Demon was still talking, waving the Colt around to emphasise his speech as he rambled. "I really need to thank you, Dean. You know I just couldn't have gotten this far without your pathetic, self-loathing, self-destructive desire to sacrifice yourself for your family."

He cocked the gun with a  _click_ , aiming it directly at Dean's forehead, closing one eye slowly as he prepared to shoot. At this range, there was no way that he would miss. Dean closed his eyes, turning his head away from the barrel a little as he waited for the tell-tale  _bang_  of the gun going off, but it never came. 

John Winchester materialised behind the Demon, wrapping his arms around it and catching it off guard just long enough for his concentration to drop, and for Dean to be able to move. The Colt fell from the Demon's hand, and Dean managed to catch it before it hit the floor, scrambling to his feet as the Demon knocked John away, rounding on the younger Winchester man with a grin that was pure evil. He opened his mouth to taunt the younger man, but before he could get a word out, Dean fired a bullet into his heart. 

The doors gave way, and Ellen, Bobby and Cheyenne managed to slam them closed, turning back to the graveyard just in time to see the Demon drop to the ground in a crumpled heap, its body twitching for just a few seconds before slumping into the grass, dead. For a few seconds, no-one could speak, or even move as the gravity of what had just happened sank in. 

After twenty-two years, the Demon was finally dead. 

Dean looked at the ghost of his father, the man he'd spent his life idolising. The man who's death he'd struggled with for so long, the man who he'd ended up becoming in more ways than one. John stared back, a proud smile on his face as Sam stumbled over to them and joined his older brother. Their father looked between them for a few seconds before looking back down at the body of the Demon who had killed his wife, for the first time looking like he was at peace. 

He turned his head back to the crypt, where Bobby, Ellen and Cheyenne were still stood, and locked eyes with Cheyenne for a moment. She recognised that look on his face, recognised that melancholy smile on his face, the look that she'd only seen once before. 

_"I know how much Dean loves you. Can see it on his face whenever he talks about you - I could see it when you were together before. If you love him even half as much, you'll be there for him if this goes to Hell. Sam too."_

It was the same look he'd had on his face the night he'd told her he thought they were getting close to the Demon, just over a year ago. The Demon was gone, he was at peace. But Sam and Dean needed her, and she had to be there for them. 

Nothing needed to be said between them. Cheyenne just offered him one slow, curt nod of understanding, and she saw John's smile turn genuine, just for the briefest of moments. Then, he turned back to his sons who were watching him with tears in their eyes, for one last look. Satisfied, John finally turned away from them and walked towards the wrought iron gates of the cemetery, and started to fade into a faint glow of light. 

It was over for him. Everything he had fought for had come to a close, and now finally, after twenty years of fear and uncertainty, John Winchester was at peace. 

Cheyenne crossed the graveyard in silence to Dean, who was stood rooted on the spot next to his brother, just staring at the space his father had occupied. She was still angry, still hurt beyond belief, and still terrified by the notion that he was going to end up in Hell in a year, but for the moment, she decided that could wait. 

She eased the Colt out of his hand, tucking it into the back of her belt before opening her arms out a little and letting Dean sink into them wordlessly. He relaxed against her fully for a few seconds, before his arms wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her in closer. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry for what he'd done, sorry for what he was going to put her through, sorry for all the plans they'd made that they would never be able to do, but he couldn't get the words out. 

He didn't need to though. In that moment, she knew exactly what he was thinking.


	53. Chapter 53

Dean's soul had been damned for one week.

Neither Sam nor Cheyenne were surprised by the way the older Winchester brother had decided to handle his impending brutal death and eternity in Hell. After cleaning up at Bobby's house and watching Ellen drive off to go find Jo where she was working a case in Albuquerque, the three had hit the road. It had been seven days of pure hedonism - expensive alcohol, weed Dean had bought from some shady guy behind a 7-11, gambling in almost every casino that they passed. And sex.  _Lots_  of sex. 

What surprised Sam about the past week was how okay Cheyenne seemed to be with what was happening. Normally when Dean clammed up about emotional trauma the way he had done after John's death, she'd taken Sam's side and tried to get his older brother to open up to him. Now though, she seemed more than happy to follow him into his hazy, self-indulgent bender. Sam figured it was easier for her that way - if she was high, drunk and having sex, she wasn't thinking about what would happen in a year's time when they were burying Dean together. Maybe it was too difficult to think about. 

He, on the other hand, hadn't stopped working. He'd allowed the other two to indulge in whatever it was they were experimenting with - he'd seen them slip into an adult toy store a few hours earlier and really  _didn't_  want to know what they'd bought - while he started researching ways to get Dean out of his deal. The knowledge on it was pretty scarce, so it hadn't exactly been an easy week for him. 

What also wasn't easy for him was the fact that he'd been put in the room next to Cheyenne and Dean, who didn't seem to care about how thin the walls were. Sam ground his teeth, trying to focus on the page in front of him and ignore the porn-worthy moans coming from the room next door. This hadn't been the first time he'd heard Dean and Cheyenne having sex in the motel room beside him, but every other time they'd at least had the decency to look ashamed the next morning. Now, when he banged on the wall to try and get them to knock it off, it only seemed to spur them on, and on more than one occasion Sam had opted to go out for a drive rather than sit in the room listening to them. 

The unmistakable thudding of a headboard against the drywall got louder and faster, and finally Sam threw his book down on his own bed, standing up in disgust. 

"That's it," He declared to the empty room. "I'm going to kill myself." 

Or at the very least, he decided as he left the motel, he was going to buy himself some noise cancelling headphones and find a much needed therapy session. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"So tell me more about this blonde." 

It had been three weeks since Dean had made the deal. Eight days into the bender of a life-time, Cheyenne had received a call from a Hunter in Mississippi who'd needed her help on a case, and she'd decided to head off and help him, leaving the boys to their amuse themselves and promising to call when her case was over. As luck would have it, the day after she'd left, Bobby had called with a case of his own for them - demonic activity in Nebraska that he wanted their help on. 

The Seven Deadly Sins. Sam had hardly been able to believe what he was saying when he'd called Cheyenne to tell her about the case. He'd killed Pride itself with the help of a mysterious blonde who owned a knife that - apparently - killed Demons. 

It had taken her a few more days to wrap up her case in Mississippi, but then Cheyenne had driven back up to regroup with Sam and Dean (a reunion Sam unfortunately had to listen to through his motel wall), and now the next morning, she and Sam were sat in a nearby diner talking. Dean was still asleep in the motel, apparently he was completely passed out when Cheyenne left, and she'd decided against waking him. 

"I seriously don't know that much." Sam admitted with a heavy sigh, pushing his eggs around on his plate. "She just showed up out of nowhere with that knife, killed two Demons, and then left."

"She didn't say anything to you?"

He frowned at her for a few moments, thinking back to what had happened when the blonde woman rushed in with her knife brandished. "She knew my name. Didn't say much else, just that she'd saved my ass."

"Kind of sounds like a bitch." Cheyenne observed, sipping her coffee. Sam nodded in agreement, pushing his food around on his plate for another few seconds before dropping his fork down onto the table, his appetite suddenly gone. He hadn't exactly been that hungry to start with. 

"Has Dean talked to you about all of this yet?"

Cheyenne paused, the coffee mug still raised for a moment. After thinking about it for a second she lowered it to the table, gnawing on her lower lip. "No."

"He hasn't said anything?" Sam asked with a low sigh. She shook her head, offering him an apologetic smile in response. 

"I haven't really asked, to be honest." She admitted. "Not exactly a conversation I'm ready for."

Neither of them said anything, a familiar awkward silence descending on the table like a dark cloud. This was how the past few weeks had gone - whenever Sam and Cheyenne had a few moments together, Sam would bring up the Deal, and Cheyenne would get uncomfortable and deflect until he dropped it. 

She had no way of coping with this. Every other death or loss she'd experienced had come as a brutal shock to her system, from watching Sam die in Cold Oak all the way back to the afternoon she'd come home to find her mother had packed her bags and abandoned her. She'd never been given a terminal prognosis, a set time and date to expect the agony of losing someone, and she still wasn't sure how to process it. 

"When are we going to talk to him about it, Cheyenne?"

For a few moments, she didn't respond. Instead of saying anything, she just stared out of the window into the street, brows furrowed until a line appeared between them. Finally, after a silence that stretched until Sam was certain she was just going to ignore him, she spoke. 

"He doesn't want to talk about it."

"It's Dean," He pointed out gently. Sam knew his brother better than anyone, knew that despite their job and Dean's multiple brushes with death, he didn't seem to really be aware of his own mortality. "Of course he doesn't want to. Doesn't mean we won't be having that conversation with him, you know that."

Cheyenne hadn't looked away from the window. She was focused on the young woman across the street in the red raincoat, who was crouched in front of her son. The young boy was fussing about something, stomping lemon-yellow wellingtons in a muddy puddle so the water splashed him and his mother. After a few moments of whining, folding arms over his chubby chest and pouting, his mother finally managed to convince him to keep walking down the street, but not before he stamped his boots in the puddle one last time. 

"He won't even acknowledge it. Not one time in three weeks." She said quietly, her voice light but the raw anguish in her eyes betraying how she really felt. "He just wants us to pretend everything is normal."

"But it's not."

"I know that." Her tone was sharper than she'd meant for it to come out, and after a second she tore her gaze from the street to look at him again, remorse flickering across her face. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "I know."

Their conversation was interrupted by the insistent buzzing of her phone against the wood of the table, alerting her to an incoming phone call from Dean. She picked it up with a tight, grim smile, trying to keep her voice even and normal when she spoke. "Hey, you're up."

"Yeah," His voice was still gravelly from sleep. "You left."

"Just went to the diner with Sam for something to eat," She assured him gently. "Didn't go far. Want us to bring you back something to eat?"

Dean hummed appreciatively in response, a low groan that made her smile despite the mood the conversation had put her in. "Mmh... See if they've got any pie."

"Pie," She echoed, nodding along. "Sure thing."

"Oh, and Bobby called." She heard a low groan and the rustling of sheets as Dean sat up. "He's got a case for us."

Cheyenne cocked an eyebrow in interest. Cases were a good distraction - if they were working, none of them had the time to think about Dean's Deal, which meant Sam couldn't question her about how she was handling things, and she wouldn't have to keep dodging the topic. "Where?"

"Cicero, Indiana. Guy fell on his on power saw."

"Fell on his own power saw?" She echoed so that Sam could hear, gauging his reaction. He seemed about as confused as she felt - DIY accidents weren't usually their thing. "And Bobby thinks this is a job because...?"

"Just does." Dean said quickly. "So are you in or not?"

She was surprised at his sharp tone, but after a quick moment of deliberation, she decided there was no harm in checking Cicero out. After all, as Cheyenne and Sam paid for their food and left the diner, she figured that the worst case scenario was that they wasted some gas on the journey there. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, that was  _not_  the worst case scenario. 

Dean had revealed his true intentions in going to Cicero, Indiana when they were in the car. It turned out that the possible case hadn't been scoped out by Bobby, but Dean had found it online and had taken it upon himself to drag them 800 miles to check it out. And, as if that wasn't irritating enough, Cheyenne found out his  _other_  reason for driving all the way to Cicero when they were too far into the journey for her to turn back. 

"Who the hell is  _Lisa_?" She asked, not bothering to keep the cold note of jealousy out of her voice. 

In front of her, in the passenger's seat, Cheyenne saw Sam's shoulder's stiffen at her tone of voice. He could sense the tension, but Dean (as usual) was nowhere near as perceptive as his younger brother, and didn't seem to heed the red flags indicating that he should tread carefully during the conversation. 

"She's an old friend, I knew her about... God, eight years ago now?"

"Uh-huh." Cheyenne deadpanned, her voice icy. "And we're going to see her because...?"

"Ah, c'mon, Chey." He chuckled, catching her gaze in the rearview mirror. "It's my dying wish."

Sam made a comment about the number of 'dying wishes' Dean seemed to be getting, not that it seemed to phase him in the slightest. Cheyenne decided against getting roped into the conversation, and so when they started talking properly she tuned out, bringing her feet up onto the leather of the backseat, grabbing the blanket she usually kept for long drives. When Dean looked at her in the rear view mirror again a few minutes later she'd curled up in the back seat with her back to him, the blanket pulled around his shoulders. It was a little odd, but he put it down to nothing more than her being tired, and didn't think about it again as they neared Cicero. 

Dean dropped Sam off at the motel when they arrived in Cicero with nothing more than a hasty 'bye, Sam!', before making a beeline for Lisa Braeden's house. As they drove, Cheyenne didn't say anything, and surprisingly, neither did Dean. There was a weird, nervous tension in the car that she was unfamiliar with, and when she caught Dean looking at her out of the corner of her eye, Cheyenne got the distinct impression he was regretting bringing her along. 

 _Too bad_ , she thought bitterly, glaring at the houses that they passed when they entered a suburban residential area.  _No way I'm letting you run off to see her alone._

It wasn't that she didn't trust Dean - she trusted him with her life, let alone to be faithful - but she couldn't help the nagging jealousy that tugged somewhere in her chest. Why were they going to see this woman? Why had they driven for so long to get to her? If she was a good enough friend for Dean to drop everything like this for her, then why hadn't Cheyenne ever heard of her before?

Everything about the drive was annoying her. Everything from the perfectly kept hedgerows to the young families walking the streets together, enjoying the warm sunshine. When Dean pulled the Impala up to the curb, Cheyenne scowled accusingly at the couple walking their Labradoodle, as if they were to blame for her foul mood. Luckily, Dean didn't catch her facial expression - he was too busy practically bounding up to the front door, ringing the doorbell. 

 _Please, God at least let her be ugly_. Cheyenne prayed silently as she joined him on the front step, folding her arms defensively over her chest. Excitement practically radiated off Dean, and when the door swung open, his face broke into a broad grin. It was the most she'd seen him smile in months. 

She was beautiful. She looked like the model on a God-Damn shampoo commercial, and when she spotted Dean, it was hard to miss the surprised, but delighted grin that spread across her features, lighting her face up. "Dean? Dean Winchester?"

"Hey, Lisa..." If Cheyenne hadn't known any better, she would have said Dean sounded almost nervous around this woman. "How've you been?"

"I've been... I've been great!" She smiled warmly, bringing him into a friendly hug, which he returned. Cheyenne felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy somewhere in her abdomen at the sight of his arms wrapping around her waist, and when they parted, she resisted the urge to step in between them. 

 _Behave yourself_. She told herself sternly. It was just a hug, after all. 

"This is Cheyenne." Dean said with a small smile, stepping back a little to introduce them. Cheyenne was brought into a surprisingly warm hug by the taller woman, which she returned a little hesitantly. "Cheyenne, this is Lisa."

"It's nice to meet you." Lisa offered her a warm, inviting smile. "So, what are you guys doing here?"

"Oh, just passing through," Dean said casually, as if he hadn't broken half the speed limits in the state to get here, deliberately dragging them across half the country so he could show up at her doorstep. Cheyenne cocked an eyebrow skeptically, but Dean avoided her gaze expertly, focusing on Lisa. "Figured we'd drop by and say hi. It's been what, eight years? Nine?"

"Nearly nine," She confirmed. "I uh... I'd invite you in, but we're having a party."

"Oh!" Dean grinned enthusiastically. "Well, we love parties!"

Lisa missed the death glare Cheyenne shot at him, because after a moment's deliberation she decided to invite them inside, leading them through a spotless, shiny kitchen and into a spacious back yard, filled with adults and children alike. 

"So who's the party for?" Dean asked, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a child who was sprinting across the lawn. 

"My son, Ben." Lisa gestured across the yard to a young boy, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. For a split second, Cheyenne and Dean paused in their tracks. He had light brown hair, scruffy and sticking up at the back (likely despite Lisa's attempts to smooth it down with a comb and gel that morning). Dressed in a plain black t-shirt and blue jeans while he ripped open one of his gifts, he looked  _uncomfortably_  familiar to the two of them. 

"Oh yeah!" They heard him cry. "AC/DC  _rules_!"

For the first time in a long time, both Cheyenne and Dean were stunned into silence, neither quite sure of what to say. Dean was the first to speak. "How... Old?"

"Eight." Lisa was looking back at the house, so Cheyenne wasn't quite sure if she'd caught their shocked reactions to her son. "Dean, Cheyenne, could you excuse me for a second?"

She wandered back into the kitchen to greet a guest who had just arrived with her young daughter, leaving the two of them in an awkward silence that neither seemed certain of how to break. Instead of looking at the young boy who reminded her of Dean, Cheyenne focused on her surroundings, making sure to avoid Dean's gaze. 

It stung a little bit, looking at all of this. Looking at the freshly-mowed lawn with the bouncy castle, looking at the grill that Cheyenne could picture Dean stood over, looking at the beautiful house she would give anything to have. Lisa was living the life that she craved more than anything else in the world. And unfortunately, that only added fuel to the jealous fire in her stomach. 

"Did you hear what she called him?"

"Dean? Why?"

"As in... ' _best weekend of my life'_  Dean? She never told you about this... Semi-Illegal weekend they spent together in her loft?"

The women lounging underneath the nearby shade of the picnic table were whispering, but their hushed voices carried just far enough for Cheyenne to hear, and again it felt like she'd been hit in the gut. Of course she'd figured that 'friend' had been a euphemism - she'd never known Dean to have friendships with women that hadn't ended up with at least one of them being naked - but it still hurt to hear it out loud. It hurt to have those women gossiping, knowing about Dean's infamous escapades while she had to stand beside him and look like an idiot. 

She should have stayed with Sam at the motel. 

A familiar sense of anxiety crept over Cheyenne, swelling somewhere in her gut and building until she could practically feel it everywhere, from her lightly shaking hands to her chest, which she could feel tightening with the tell-tale signs of an oncoming anxiety attack. 

She had to get out of here. 

She had to get out before she could hear or see anything else that made it worse. 

She had to get out  _now_.

"I'm going to go back to the motel."

The voice that came out of her barely sounded like her own - meek, quiet and clipped. When she spoke, Cheyenne could barely even meet his gaze, focusing on the unbleached umbrella of the picnic table behind him. 

"Oh," He sounded a little disappointed as he straightened his jacket, preparing to follow her towards the door before she swung out a hand to stop him. 

"No, you stay." She insisted, glancing at Lisa out of the corner of her eye. It was quick, she looked away from him for barely a second, but Dean caught it and followed her gaze. "I'll go, you stay and catch up with Lisa."

"Are you sure?" He checked, raising an eyebrow. "You want the keys to the Impala?"

"No." She said quickly. Getting behind the wheel of a car when she felt like this was a good way of crashing and getting herself killed. "I'll walk, it's nice out."

Dean didn't even have the chance to stop her before she'd managed to slip past him, heading into the kitchen where she disappeared, pushing past Lisa and her friend. He watched her go, still rooted in place on the grass. After a few seconds, his thoughts drifted back to Ben. 

Eight years old. 

Cheyenne must have seen what he saw, must have done the math faster than he did. She was freaked out, he knew that much from the way she'd taken off without him, leaving him to suffer under the watchful gaze of two women who were eyeing him up like he was the last slice of pie in the shop. But was Ben his son? Had he been a father for eight years without even knowing it? 

No, that wasn't possible. Sure, Dean wasn't always careful when it came to protection, but there was  _no way_  that was his kid. No God-Damn way. Right?

As if to reassure himself, he took another look back at the young boy, who had put the CD on the nearby table in order to start stuffing a large slice of cake into his mouth, smearing a little icing around the corners of his mouth. 

Okay, sure. Cheyenne had made comments about how he ate like a five-year old  _a lot_ , but it was natural for eight-year-olds to lack table manners, right? 

Ben licked icing off his fingers and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before turning back to the Bounce House, a bright grin on his face as he ran towards the small group of girls who were crawling into it. "Look out ladies, here comes  _trouble_!"

The girlish screams of laughter that echoed around the yard barely registered with Dean. For a moment he stood there in the yard, counting on his fingers as he tried the math, well aware of the two women sitting at the picnic table a few feet away who were watching him closely. It took him a moment, but after he'd worked it out in his head, he practically felt himself go cold. 

The math checked out.

Dean almost knocked over a little girl as he ran back towards the house, pushing past a group of young mothers who were gossiping over their glasses of Rosé to get back to Lisa, who was talking to another mother. 

She looked tired, pale and drawn with dark circles under her eyes, and when she and Lisa spoke in hushed tones she seemed worried about something. When they noticed Dean standing in the doorway, the blonde woman eyed him up apprehensively, and an awkward silence fell between the two women for a few seconds. After Dean raised his hand in an uncertain greeting, the other woman decided it was her cue to leave, and grabbed her purse, murmuring a quick goodbye to Lisa before turning and walking out of the kitchen with her daughter in tow. Lisa watched them go, clearly concerned, but when they heard the front door close, she turned her attention to Dean.

"Everything alright? I saw Cheyenne leave..."

"She's fine," He said quickly, brushing past it. He would just have to deal with Cheyenne later. "Listen... About Ben..."

"What about him?" Lisa turned back to the oven to set the timer on it. 

"He's... Eight, right?"

Lisa must have understood his tone perfectly, because when she turned back to look at him, there was a smile on her face. "Are you wondering if he's yours?"

For a moment he considered putting on a façade of calm, acting like he didn't care who Ben's father was. He couldn't bring himself the fake the bravado though, so he just asked outright. "Is he?" 

Lisa smiled gently, shaking her head as she leaned against the nearby countertop. She almost looked amused by his concern. "You're off the hook, don't worry."

"Right..." He murmured, glancing out of the window and into the yard, where he could see Ben talking to his friends about his new CD. If he wasn't Ben's father, then Ben's father seemed like the kind of guy he could sit down and have a beer with, for sure. 

With the most pressing concern out of the way, Dean turned back to Lisa, motioning towards the front door the blonde woman and her child had walked through not long before. "Was your friend okay?"

She shrugged listlessly, worry lining her face. "She's been through a lot. Her ex-husband was in this horrible accident last week..."

"The... Power Saw accident, right?"

Lisa nodded, surprised that he'd already heard about the accident. "Yeah, that's the one. It was... Brutal to be honest, really horrible... I guess there's been a lot of bad luck in the neighbourhood recently."

 _That_  caught Dean's attention. "Bad luck? What kind of bad luck?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

After speaking with Lisa, Dean couldn't stay. Not when there had been four other freak accidents in the past few weeks that had never even made it to the papers. When he left, Dean checked up and down the street for any sign of Cheyenne, but she was no-where to be seen, and had obviously made good on her decision to walk back to the motel without him.

With a heavy sigh, Dean slid into the front seat of the Impala and sent a text to Sam to inform him that there actually _was_ a case in town that they needed to check out, before putting the key in the ignition and peeling out of Lisa's driveway. 

Cheyenne had only made it a few blocks from the party when she heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine behind her, gaining on her too quickly for her to duck into a side street and avoid Dean. The fresh air had done her some good, and it had only taken a few minutes outside for her breathing to steady out and her hands to stop shaking. It had been a while since she'd felt that anxiety in the pit of her stomach, even longer since she'd been verging on a full-blown anxiety attack, and she was certain Lisa and Ben were the cause. She'd just about managed to get back to her normal self when she heard the Impala down the street, and in a few seconds he'd pulled up beside her, leaning out of the window to talk. "You getting in?"

"Thought you were back at the party?" She said coolly, stuffing her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans and continuing down the sidewalk. Dean didn't stop the car, trailing along behind her slowly instead. 

"I left. I think there's a job in town, Lisa said there's been a whole bunch of accidents recently that never even made it into the papers." Dean paused, frowning when Cheyenne didn't stop and get into the car. It was almost as if she hadn't heard him. "Are you... Getting in?"

The heavy sigh that escaped her lips caught Dean off guard, and when she finally stopped to look at him her lips were pursed into a straight, thin line. Although he wasn't quite sure  _how_ , Dean knew he'd done something to annoy her. "Chey?"

Whatever was wrong, she didn't feel like telling him. Instead, she opened the passenger door to the Impala, slamming it shut behind her as she threw herself down in her seat. "Fine, let's go."

For a couple of moments, Dean debated whether or not he should ask her what was wrong, but when he saw the dark expression on her face he decided against it. It could wait until they were at the motel, after all.


	54. Chapter 54

She didn't say a word during the drive to the motel. Dean looked over at her in the front seat a few times, opened his mouth to try and speak more than once, but the words died in his throat and instead they just sat in awkward silence. He couldn't even bring himself to turn the radio on to break the tension. 

Sam agreed to meet them back at the motel after he was done eating at the diner, so they walked to the room alone, Cheyenne deliberately trying to keep a distance between them. 

"Alright," Dean let the door slam shut behind them as she stormed into their room ahead of him. "What is it?"

"What's what?" Cheyenne feigned ignorance as she peeled her jacket off, tossing it onto the bed carelessly. She knew she was being childish, she knew she should have just told him what was wrong like an  _adult_ , but she didn't care. She was tired, her body ached from being hunched up in the Impala for hours on end, and to top it all off, they were here to see an old fling of his. Not for a case.

"Well,  _that_  for one thing." He muttered, talking about her tone. "What's with you today?"

Cheyenne span around to face him so quickly it surprised him, and he stopped in his tracks, catching her facial expression. "Why are we here, Dean?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why are we here?" She repeated softly, feeling tears prick at her eyes, which she blinked away quickly. She was tired, frustrated and downright angry, but she wasn't going to cry in front of him like a toddler, stamping her feet because she didn't get her way. "Why did we come all this way to see  _her_?"

"That's what you're upset about?"

A sudden flare of anger lit up inside Cheyenne. Lisa and Dean had slept together, and that kid might as well have been called Ben  _Winchester_ they were so alike. She figured a little jealousy was to be expected. " _Yes_ that's what I'm upset about, Dean! How do you think I felt, walking in there with you and coming face to face with a bunch of women who were whispering about your 'magical weekend' with someone we drove two days to see? How do you think I felt talking to a woman you screwed eight years ago, a woman you're  _clearly_ still thinking about? Do you have any idea how _humiliating_  that was? Do you know how that made me feel?"

Dean stood there in silence, realisation dawning on his face as she spoke. "You think I still... Have feelings for Lisa?"

Cheyenne let out a frustrated sigh, motioning wildly as she searched for the right words. Maybe she was being irrational. Maybe this was nothing to be concerned about, but she couldn't ignore the way this made her feel, the way seeing Dean's desperation to meet Lisa again sent her anxiety into overdrive. "I don't know what to think any more."

Dean just stood there dumbly, mouth hanging open just a little as he watched her. "Chey, you know I'd never-"

"I know you wouldn't." She interrupted, sighing. "I know. But you have to know how difficult this is for me, right? Meeting up with one of your old flings, and hearing about how you were the 'best weekend of her life' and..." She trailed off lamely, ending with a half-hearted shrug. "I just... Want to know why we're here."

Dean was silent for a few seconds, his eyebrows knitting together into a frown as he thought about how best to express how he felt. "I just... Wanted someone to remember me."

Cheyenne paused for a moment, thinking at first that she'd misheard him. "What?"

Dean sighed heavily, and now it was his turn to shrug, avoiding her gaze as his cheeks turned a little pink.  "I wanted to know that when I'm gone someone will remember me. I don't... I don't have anyone, Chey. I've got you, and Sam and Bobby, and that's it. No one else."

His voice dropped a little when he next spoke, sounding almost ashamed of his vulnerability. "I just wanted people to miss me."

Whatever Cheyenne had been expecting, that wasn't it. She'd half expected him to sheepishly suggest a threesome (it wouldn't have been the first time), and a small part of her was expecting to hear him talk about Ben being his long lost kid, who he wanted to meet before he died. She wasn't expecting this, she wasn't expecting that raw vulnerability. 

Dean had talked about getting out of Hunting hundreds of times before. He'd talked about being tired of never getting to settle, hating having to sleep in motels every night without anywhere to call home. He'd talked about hating the amount of broken bones and bruises he'd had to suffer over the years, but this was the first time he'd really talked about how lonely the job was. 

And it  _was_ lonely. The only people you could ever really talk to were Hunters, and it was risky getting close to them - people in this profession had an unfortunate habit of dying before their time. Most of the people Cheyenne had known when she'd first started Hunting were already dead, and she rarely spoke to the others. It was an isolated, guarded life - that was the way it needed to be in order for you to survive, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with. Cheyenne had never considered Dean, who lived on the road and thrived when he was just an anonymous face in the crowd, would be wondering what would be left after he died.

She had no idea what to say to him. He was looking down at her with those big green eyes, wide and vulnerable like she hadn't seen in months, his expression more human than anything she'd seen since he'd made the Deal. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked finally. Dean just laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head a little. 

"Didn't want to sound like a girl." He admitted. 

"Yeah, wanting to know that people gave a shit about you is  _so_  girly." She snapped, folding her arms over her chest defensively. 

"Okay, hey. I'm sorry." Dean said gently, holding his hands out like he was trying to talk down a wild animal. He'd  _seriously_  misjudged the tone in the room, and in an attempt to calm her down, he took her hand gently, pulling her towards him.

For a second, she looked like she was going to push him away, but after a moment she sank into his embrace gratefully, wrapping her arms around his middle. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you why I wanted to come out here. I just..."

He trailed off with a heavy sigh, kissing the top of her head gently as he felt her body relax against him. For a few seconds they just stood there, both hyper aware that this was the most intimate they'd been since he'd made the Deal. Sure, they'd had sex more times than either one of them could count, but none of that had even come close to making either of them feel the way this did. 

It didn't last for nearly as long as Cheyenne wanted. Dean pulled away, walking to the bed and stripping off his jacket, giving a long, languid stretch as he spoke. "Anyway, turns out after all that, there is a case in town. So you got your panties in a twist over nothing."

He could feel the tension flood back into the room as soon as the words left his mouth, and even though his back was to her, he knew exactly the facial expression he'd see on Cheyenne when he looked back at her. Sure enough, when he turned to her, it was to see a look of pure, white hot anger. Alarm bells went off in Dean's head, but it was too late to take the words back. 

"I... 'Got my panties in a twist'?" She said quietly, almost in disbelief as she took a slow step towards him. Her voice was soft, but laced with the kind of anger Dean had only heard once before - back in Oregon, when they'd fought about her looking for her Nana. 

"You drag me fifteen-hundred miles, lie to me about why we're here, and then show up at the doorstep of an old girlfriend who has a kid that's basically a carbon copy of you. Do you know what that did to me? Have you got any idea what that does to me, lying to me like that?"

"It's not like I knew about the damn kid!" He snapped back, anger flaring up inside him. Seeing Ben had been just as much of a shock to him as it was to her, but when he opened his mouth to explain that Lisa had already assured him he  _wasn't_  the father, she cut across him.

"You still dragged us out here for some woman you slept with  _nine_  years ago, Dean! Is that the only person you can think of that you've made an impact on? Are you that screwed up that the only people you think are going to remember you are your one night stands?"

"It's not like I'm asking you for a threesome here, Cheyenne. It's not like I'm asking for a free pass to screw around and do whatever I want. All I'm asking is that we go see an old friend."

"She's not an old friend, Dean! She was a one night stand, someone you haven't seen in nearly a decade! Is this really what you're concerned about? We could be helping find a way to get you out of your deal, to save you, and all your interested in doing is hooking up with old girlfriends!"

For a moment Dean just looked at her, his eyes narrowing a little as he realised what she was saying. "Are we still fighting about Lisa, or is there something else you want to say? Because if there is, then spit it out. What do you  _want_ , Cheyenne?"

"I want you to fight!" She screamed, angry tears pricking in her eyes again. This time she didn't bother to try and hide them, didn't try to push them away. 

"Your whole life, you've never laid down and taken anything, you're so fucking stubborn that you fight about where we're going to eat dinner, but the  _one time_  it actually matters, the one time your life is on the line, you're just going to roll over and take it? I want you to fight back, Dean! I want you to act like your life matters, like you even give a shit that you're dying! Do you know what this is doing to us? You get that in a year Sam and I are going to be burying you, right?"

Dean just stood there, stunned into silence by her outburst. He opened his mouth to try and form words - any words - but they died on his lips. There was nothing to say to her, nothing he could say to calm her down. Nothing he could say to stop the tears, nothing he could say to make it better. 

 _Dammit_. 

This was exactly why he's avoided this conversation. This was why he'd tried to drink himself stupid, get high enough that he couldn't even think straight, and have enough sex that it  _almost_  compensated for the wall he'd put up between the two of them in the weeks since the Deal. He hadn't wanted this. 

He could deal with her screaming at him until she was hoarse, he could handle her getting angry with him, telling him he was an asshole and a bastard, and  _how could you leave me like this_? He could take all of that. God, he wished she was just angry with him. 

He'd take anger over this any day. 

There were tears welling in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks without ever following through. Her lower lip quivered for a second before she pursed her lips together into a thin line to stop it, drawing her mouth into a frown. She didn't look angry any more, she looked distraught. After what seemed like an age, with her trying to compose herself and Dean trying to push away the feeling of guilt that swelled uncomfortably in his chest, she spoke. He voice was cracked, and wavered a little, but it was clear enough. 

"I have to get out of here."

He tried to protest, but all that came out was a weak 'don't' before she'd snatched up her jacket and cell phone, and had opened the motel door, only to come face to face with a very uncomfortable looking Sam. Cheyenne paused in the doorway for a second before pushing past him, disappearing out into the parking lot before the taller man could stop her. He watched her go for a few seconds, before looking back at Dean, who'd sunk onto the bed, his head in his hands. 

"I wasn't listening in." Sam murmured awkwardly. "I just... Showed up, heard you guys fighting. I was about to leave when she-"

"Sam, shut up." Dean grunted into his hands. His younger brother fell silent, still hovering by the door, with one foot in the threshold. 

"What were you guys fighting about?" He asked tentatively, even though he already knew. There was only one thing they could have been fighting about, realistically. 

"Just forget about it." 

Sam shut the door behind him slowly as he walked into the room properly, gnawing on his lower lip as he looked at his older brother. "You want me to go after her?"

Dean ran his fingers through his cropped hair harshly, mussing it up and tugging on the ends a little as he stood. On the one hand, he hated the thought of Cheyenne out there on her own, but on the other hand, he knew that going after her when she was this upset would only make things worse. She needed time to cool off, and then they could talk. Right now, he needed to focus on the case. 

"No," He decided eventually, shaking his head firmly. "Let's talk about this case."

 

 

* * *

 

 

After she left the motel, Cheyenne just walked without thinking. She did laps around the park nearby, ducking off the paths whenever joggers or families came past, and eventually wandering further from the motel and across town. By the time it was dark outside she was on the other side of town, booked into the only other motel available. 

It had all come out, everything she'd wanted to say since he'd made the deal but hadn't had the guts to bring up. She'd wanted to talk about the deal that first night after he'd killed the Yellow-Eyed-Demon, but Dean had been so preoccupied with celebrating that she hadn't felt right bringing it up, and she'd decided to leave it until after their hangovers wore off. The celebrations never stopped though, and the hangover never came, and eventually she'd jumped at the chance to take a case in Mississippi with Rufus Turner just to get away from it. 

It was suffocating, pretending that everything was fine and Dean wasn't going to die. Letting him drag her into his End Of The World bender, doing everything she could to keep him happy was exhausting, and eventually she'd needed a break from plastering a smile on her face and acting like she didn't have a care in the world. 

She'd gone along with it at first because it was the happiest she'd seen him in years. That carefree, lazy smile that spread across his face late at night when the room stank of weed and his voice was soaked in whiskey was just  _so good_  to look at it. She'd missed it, in all honesty. She'd missed seeing him relaxed like that, she'd missed how carefree he was, and in that moment, she realised she hadn't seen him like this since they were first together in 2003. 

His death sentence had liberated him just as it had thrown a chain around her neck, and she'd started drowning under the pressure to pretend like everything was fine. In all honesty, she wasn't worried about Lisa or Ben. She knew Dean would never cheat on her, she trusted him. But this was the final straw, this was her breaking point. 

That night, Cheyenne slept restlessly. She'd tossed and turned on top of the sheets, waking every few hours drenched in sweat and screaming his name to an empty room. She dreamed of Hellhounds, scratching at the door outside and howling at the moon. She dreamed of Dean, his crumpled lifeless body limp in her arms. She dreamed of him leaving her, an old nightmare she hadn't had to face in a long time, and one she hadn't missed. 

The last dream, the one she had somewhere between four in the morning and six AM when she woke to weak sunlight streaming into her room, was the one that unsettled her the most. She was back in her childhood home, walking down the upstairs hallway towards her bedroom, where she could hear someone singing a lullaby. 

The room was decorated as a nursery, and in the middle of the room, a woman was stood over a bassinet. One hand dipped into the crib as she sang, her voice low and melodic, warm and comforting.

_"Ese lunar que tienes,_

_Cielito lindo, junto a la boca,_

_No se lo des a nadie,_

_Cielito lindo, que a mí me toca."_

Cheyenne stood in the doorway to her bedroom for a moment in the doorway, transfixed by the voice. She'd heard this song before somewhere, but she had no idea where, and thinking about it was just  _so difficult_. Instead, she just leaned against the doorway, let the slow, melodic music wash over her. Her eyes slipped closed, a contented smile spreading across her lips. 

_"Si tu boquita morena,_

_Fuera de azúcar, fuera de azúcar,_

_Yo me lo pasaría,_

_Cielito lindo, chupa que chupa."_

Suddenly, the voice stopped, and Cheyenne opened her eyes with a frown. The woman in front of her was gone, and the room was empty - even the crib had disappeared. She pushed off the doorframe, glancing behind her as if she expected the woman to have somehow passed by without her noticing. The hallway was empty too; in an instant, she was all alone, with only the familiar cold anxiety that swirled in her stomach for company. 

_"It was your fault."_

The voice seemed to come from behind her and in front of her all at once, and Cheyenne span on the spot like a dog chasing it's tail, searching for the source of it. She was alone though, and even when she called out a weak 'hello?', it only echoed off the walls without a response. 

The anxiety was still there when she woke early that morning, her face buried into the scratchy sheets of the motel pillows. As she sat up and rubbed sleep from her eyes, Cheyenne couldn't help that uncomfortable feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach. Her first reaction was to turn around and tell Dean about it, but as she shifted on the bed, she remembered what had happened the afternoon earlier, and that she was alone. 

With a heavy sigh, Cheyenne eased herself out of bed. It wasn't like she was going to get much more sleep now anyway, so she figured she may as well get on with her day. The motel provided cheap instant coffee in the kitchenette, and although it was bitter and tasted oddly earthy, it was caffeine, which was good enough for her. 

The argument from the night before played over and over in her mind, and as she drank her coffee and sat there in the cold light of day, Cheyenne couldn't help but feel a little guilty. It wasn't unreasonable for her to be angry with everything that was happening, but that didn't stop her from feeling guilty about the way everything had come out. She'd never screamed at him like that before, and it didn't feel good. 

She had six missed calls on her cell phone when she checked, and a lot more messages. Most of them were from Sam, giving her updates on the case and asking her to check in whenever she could. She had one from Rufus, informing her of a case nearby that she could jump in on if she wasn't busy, and a text from Garth asking if she'd ever heard of a vampire nest larger than fifteen members. 

The rest of the messages were from Dean. 

Guilt flooded through Cheyenne when she read through the messages. He was worried about her, he wanted to know she was safe. When she didn't respond to any of the messages, his texts became more concerned and apologetic. 

_I just want to know you're okay._

Cheyenne's thumb hovered over the 'call' button on her cell phone for a few seconds while she debated whether or not she should talk to him. Would he be angry? Upset? Would the fight from last night carry on? 

The sharp knock on the door to her motel room made the decision for her, startling Cheyenne so much that she nearly dropped both her coffee and her phone. She hadn't heard the Impala's engine outside, but as she stood and walked to the door, she knew exactly who was on the other side, calling out his name just to make sure. "Dean? Is that you?"

"Yeah, sweetheart. It's me."

Nervously, Cheyenne slid back the lock on the door and opened the door to him. To her surprise, he didn't look angry with her, nor did he look particularly upset. Instead, she was met with a tired smile, which was only comforting after the night she'd had. 

"You gonna let me in?"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [One of These Nights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097089) by [TheGreatDivide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatDivide/pseuds/TheGreatDivide)




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